


Foolish Behavior

by zeldafire



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Feels, Avengers - Freeform, Bad Jokes, Banter, Deadpool Thought Boxes, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Humor, Insecurity, M/M, Secret Identity, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Spideypool - Freeform, did I mention this was slow burn?, first chapter has serious feels, it's the slowest of burns, ok fine other chapters have feels too, peter's a dork, peter's also kind of an ass, post-grad peter, there is no escaping the feels, they both have secrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-05-05 06:06:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5364254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldafire/pseuds/zeldafire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The funny thing about teaming up with someone is, you don’t necessarily get to know them.  Spider-Man has had Deadpool’s “special set of skills” imposed upon him on more than one occasion, but what he could say on the subject of “who is Deadpool?” would fit on a post-it.  And as much as “ultimate Spidey fanboy” Deadpool can fake it, his intel is just as lacking.</p><p>The story of what can happen when a friendly invitation leads to an innocent slice of pizza that begets a well-meaning joke which spirals into a night cut short and unyielding questions two people had never previously been inclined to consider.</p><p>~*~</p><p>Peter’s stomach made up his mind for him, rumbling loud enough for Deadpool to hear as they moved alongside each other through the shadows of the city rooftops.  </p><p>“Something tells me Spidey forgot to catch some flies before he left his web tonight.”  Peter scrunched his face in mild disgust.</p><p>“Gross.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first multi-chapter fic in yeeaarrsss. It was not planned. I only have a vague idea of where it's going. But I'm loving it so far. I hope you do too. :)
> 
> Story title is taken from/in slight reference to Neon Trees' song, [Foolish Behavior](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mbQF9O27O0w). However, this is not a song!fic. I _am_ slightly obsessed with Neon Trees, so don't be surprised if they are referenced throughout this fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the lovely [cortexikid](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cortexikid/pseuds/cortexikid) for beta-ing, and [Hiekomi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiekomi/profile) for doing a final read-through with me.
> 
> {white box}  
> [yellow box]

“Oh no. Tell me you’re not serious right now.” Wade stopped mid-bite, taken aback by the tone of Spider-Man’s voice. “Dude, that’s a crime against nature. I can’t even look at you right now.” Wade watched from the corner of his eye as Spider-Man frowned in disgust and turned away from him.

Wade froze. He couldn’t think, his mind shot, yet coursing with a million thoughts all at once.

[We told you he’d be grossed out.]

{Everyone’s always grossed out.}

[ _I’m_ grossed out. And I’m us! You’re we!]

Wade panicked as his boxes bickered, confirming all his own thoughts and fears. He’d thought that it’d be ok. That _he’d_ be ok. It’d been so long since he’d been comfortable enough without his mask and without his bravado to distract from what lay beneath.

He ended up maskless during fights and missions more times than he could count. More times than he ever cared for. But the people in those situations, who got to _see_ , already hated him. Or feared him. And if they didn’t, he could just Deadpool his way out of the initial discomfort. Jokes were fantastic distractions. So was shooting people. As much as he could play it off at the time, however, the discomfort never truly abated until he could manage to once again cover his face.

Yet this time, this time Wade had voluntarily rolled up his mask. He’d felt comfortable and safe enough around Spidey that he’d allowed himself that much. It’d taken most of his courage and a little indignant spite for his insecurities for him to pull the mask up to his nose. Followed by another minute of panicked breathing to calm himself enough to think about eating.

And now all of that didn’t matter because Spidey was just like the rest of them.

 _I thought he mighta been different_ … Wade sighed morosely as he regained enough of his faculties to reach back up for his mask. _But I can’t blame him. He didn’t know what was coming. Wasn’t prepared. Wants to be able to keep his lunch down after he eats it._

“What are you doing?” Spider-Man’s voice broke through as he finished pulling his mask down. Wade couldn’t face him, couldn’t look Spidey in the eye, afraid of confirmation of disgust he’d find there. Wade bowed his head and started babbling.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Kind of a habit of mine. You’ve never seen me. Under the mask I mean.” Wade kept his voice low, eyes trained on the tightly clasped hands resting in his lap.

“Well, I can’t say that I haven’t been curious. But I don’t see what that has to do with anything, or what you’re apologizing for.” Wade glanced up.

Spider-Man watched him intently, his head tilted slightly in question. Wade looked back down, his thumbs starting to twitch as his mind ran at high speed.

[Ok. What’s the deal here? We can’t _all_ be confused.]

{I think that’s what the Big Guy’s trying to figure out.}

“Of course that’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Wade ground out under his breath. “Spidey’s not making any sense.”

“Deadpool? I’m sorry but I seriously don’t know what’s going on here.” Spider-Man sounded so sincere, his voice having lost its previous light tone. It felt almost piercing. “I was just wondering how you were planning on eating through a mask. And then you start apologizing…”

Wade was in a daze, distracted and starting to come apart. He was also upset, hurt by Spider-Man’s previous words, angry that apparently all this wasn’t a big deal. He was afraid to ask, but asking was the only way to get to the bottom of things. That, and torture. Wade didn’t think the second option was presently valid.

“I rolled up my mask and you saw and said you couldn’t look at me. You said ‘a crime against nature.’ Frankly, I’ve heard worse,” Wade plowed on, unable to stop the nervous angry-edged babble. “But it still… So I’m sorry. I know I’m no good for lookin’ at, and I shouldn’t’ve made you.”

There was a long pause. The silence stretched for a solid minute before Wade looked back up at Spider-Man, who’d frozen stiller than he had.

“Deadpool, I… I can’t believe that’s what you thought… What you think… Shit, now _I’m_ the one who really needs to be apologizing. I’m sorry. It was just a joke. But not one about you!” he added hastily, voice high and earnest. “I would never say anything like that. Heck, I can’t believe anyone could even think that…” he trailed off into an almost inaudible murmur.

Wade was skeptical. He didn’t know how to move forward with this new information. To him, the statement’s sincerity was impossible. Questionable at best. He’d never believe it from anyone else. But Spidey always seemed so altruistic…

“If you weren’t talking about me,” he ventured, voice low and guarded. “What were you talking about?”

Spider-Man let out a burst of nervous laughter.

“Wow, I feel awful. It’s hard to even admit to such a terrible joke when it ended up...making you feel like this…” His voice was sheepish. “I just can’t believe you’ve been living in New York for this long and still don’t know how to eat pizza!” There was another silent beat, though lighter than the last. “I mean, come on,” Spider-Man continued as he held up his slice. “You gotta fold it. There’s just no other way,” he demonstrated, neatly folding the gigantic slice quickly and easily with his dexterous fingers.

Wade couldn’t process any of it. Spider-Man kept talking, acting like _he’d_ done something wrong. Folding pizza, trying to act casual to put him at ease and doing a terrible job of it. He held his hand up to silence the other man.

“Stop.” His voice was gravel.

Spider-Man quieted, slowly lowering his hand like an ashamed child.

“I can’t deal with this right now.” He stood up and stepped toward the roof’s ledge.

“Deadpool, wait,” Spider-Man scrambled, making to get up himself.

“See ya, Spidey.” Wade dropped over the side of the building and into the darkness of the night.

~*~

Peter swung home slowly, his mind digesting the night’s final events at a glacial pace. Things always seemed clearer out in the open air, and he took advantage of his web-slinging abilities with every difficult situation. This time, though, Peter wasn’t quite sure he could come to any satisfactory conclusions.

He’d run into Deadpool early on in the evening, by chance but not surprisingly. The mercenary had followed him around on his patrol, running his mouth and ruining any element of surprise Peter may have had on potential threats. He should have been annoyed, and usually was, but tonight he hadn’t seemed to care much.

His mood had been crap to begin with, work and the other intern giving him garbage he didn’t need in his life right now. Peter didn’t know how to handle the situation with Cindy so it just sat there festering, eating up his time and patience when there was a major presentation he needed to be concentrating on. Going out to fight crime would be a good Friday night activity, clear his head of office politics before he settled into the weekend. Nothing like bashing a few thugs around to relieve tension.

But, when he really got down to considering the implications, Peter hated it--using other people to ease his own problems. He should be fighting to protect the city, not fighting to release the venomous brutality that built up within even Spider-Man sometimes.

So when Deadpool had shown up and effectively ended any chance of him smashing someone’s head into a wall a little harder than necessary, while simultaneously getting him to smile at the absurdity of his jokes, Peter couldn’t help but sigh and feel just a little grateful.

After a few hours of letting Deadpool tail him and responding like the snarky grump he normally was when the merc was around, Peter felt fully diffused and thoroughly hungry. He decided he wanted pizza.

Peter also realized he didn’t want to be left alone.

He considered the implications and the reaction he’d get if he invited his “partner” of the night for an after-hours bite. He was sure Deadpool wouldn’t turn him down; Peter felt there were few things Deadpool would refuse him with the way he gushed and flirted when they were together. But appeals to do anything more than work together were always made by Deadpool, and summarily refused by Spider-Man. He knew the other man was used to it; not many seemed to voluntarily put themselves within his company. If the shoe were on the other foot, however… Would Deadpool find more significance in a slice of pizza than a way to take the edge off of Peter’s post-patrol hunger?

Peter’s stomach made up his mind for him, rumbling loud enough for Deadpool to hear as they moved alongside each other through the shadows of the city rooftops.

“Something tells me Spidey forgot to catch some flies before he left his web tonight.” Peter scrunched his face in mild disgust.

“Gross.”

“I calls ‘em like I sees ‘em. And I learned all about spiders on Discovery Channel last night.” Deadpool sounded like a proud five-year-old reporting to his mother what he’d learned at school that day. “It’s pretty cool, the way you guys liquify your prey’s insides so you can suck it out like a nasty bug smoothy--”

“Gross!” Peter was horrified at the image.

“Your vocabulary is not as extensive as I would have ventured.”

“Because you’re always so eloquent, Marriam-Webster.”

“Indubitably.”

“I do not eat bugs, nor do I liquify their insides.” Peter made a gagging noise to emphasize his point.

“Hafta admit, would be pretty useful if you could.” Peter didn’t deign to respond. “So, if you don’t satisfy the Spidey side of Spider-Man, I’m guessing the Man part wins out when it comes to food.”

“More like for everything. I’m not an animal, you know.”

“No, just mutated by one.”

“Anyway,” Peter pressed on, trying to get away from the subject of slurping insect innards. “I’m getting some pizza. Do you want to, ya know, join me?”

Peter wasn’t expecting any anxiety to accompany the question but wow, there it was, sitting deep in the pit of his stomach. Then again, he hadn’t been sure he’d even ask the question at all. Deadpool slowed his pace and Peter followed suit, not wanting to leave the man behind despite his fight or flight senses kicking in.

“Are you asking me out?”

“Just for pizza. I’m thinking Joe’s, it’s about ten blocks from here.”

“Just for pizza,” Deadpool intoned. There was a long pause as they continued along the rooftops together, their feet seeming to move independent of any notion that it might be prudent to pause and have a proper conversation.

Deadpool suddenly sped up.

“Yeah! Pizza sounds great, Spidey! Race ya there?” And with that he took off, leaping a large gap over an alley, which he finished with a tactical roll on the other side. Peter’s tongue clicked as his lips curled in amusement.

He shot a strand of web and jumped, quickly swinging past Deadpool and the tall office building ahead of them. How his red-clad opponent would scale the sheer wall of glass was beyond him, but quite frankly Peter didn’t care as he laughed out into the night.

“Loser buys!”

It only took Peter a minute to whip his way down the street and around the corner, landing deftly on the rooftop of Joe’s Pizza. He made his way down the brick wall in back, then walked leisurely up the alley and into the light glowing through the front windows. There, sitting in one of the white plastic chairs set out front, was Deadpool, a shit-eating grin apparent through the material of his mask. He saluted when Peter came into view.

“Spidey! Spider my man. My main Spider Man. ...Well, I suppose there really aren’t any secondary Spidermen. Definitely not tertiary. Ah redundancy.”

Peter was dumbfounded. “How are you here already?”

“Ah, a master never reveals his secrets,” Deadpool replied smugly as he got up from his seat. “Now,” he continued loudly, smacking his hands together, then rubbing them in anticipation. “I believe there was mention of free pizza.”

There was no way he could have beaten Peter. It was physically impossible.

“I don’t buy for cheaters.” Deadpool let out a gasp.

“You wound me, Spidey.” Deadpool stepped forward, sidling up next to Peter. “I don’t cheat,” he breathed, looking down at his partner, head tilted slightly. “I just have many special abilities most are not privy to. If you’d like,” he continued as his fingertips pressed lightly against Peter’s back, ushering him forward through the open door. “Maybe we can discuss some of them over that pizza you promised me.”

“You’re so smooth,” Peter’s voice was thick with sarcasm. “I bet the ladies love you.”

Deadpool was uncharacteristically quiet, fully concentrating on the menu hanging above the cashier’s head. Peter could feel his eyebrows raise in question, but turned his attention to the slices under the heat lamp when his stomach growled again, reminding him why they were there.

“So, uh, what do you want?”

“Whatever’s fine.”

“Mmmm,” Peter contemplated. “I’m in the mood for grease.”

“That we’ve got,” the cashier piped up, turning toward Peter with a smile, happy to be distracted from the rather imposing mercenary standing in front of him.

“A lot of grease. My-arteries-won’t-last-five-minutes level of grease.”

“Then I suggest the five cheese, triple meat special. Mozzarella, parm, asiago, feta, cheddar; pepperoni, bacon, sausage.”

“Wow, ok, yeah. That. Wait,” Peter hesitated, turning to Deadpool. “That ok with you?”

“Yeah. Like I said, anything’s fine.” His voice was still quieter than normal. It was almost unnerving. Peter turned his attention back to the boy behind the counter, not ready to contemplate the meaning behind Deadpool’s near-silence.

“A large, please.” The cashier rung it up and called out the order.

“That’ll be $24.99.”

“Here,” Peter handed over his prepaid debit card.

“Wait wait,” Deadpool came back to the world of the living as Peter’s card was swiped through the machine. “Where did you pull _that_ from?”

“‘A master never reveals his secrets’,” Peter chided in a deep voice. He took the card back and declined a receipt.

“No, seriously, _where_ did that come from?” Deadpool was leaning back and forth, eyes roving across Peter’s body in the skin-tight suit. Peter could feel a slight burn in his cheeks. “I’ve got pouches for that kind of stuff. Lots of pouches. But it’s all smooth sailing for you, Spiderbabe. Nothing but sleek spandex for days…” he trailed off, leering a little too long for comfort.

“Well I can’t just _not_ pay,” Peter retorted, his voice a little sterner than intended. “What am I supposed to do, leave an i.o.u.? ‘Thanks for the pizza, love Spider-Man.’ I’d be harassed for plastering the city with arachnotes.”

Deadpool burst out laughing and Peter used the opportunity to stash the card away unobserved. He was glad the joke, terrible though it was, had panned out. It was better to hear Deadpool laughing like normal than quiet, rendering it easier for Peter to move his mind away from questioning the inner complexities of the merc. He knew there had to be more to the man than met the eye, but tonight was not the night he planned on tackling all that.

“Oh wow, Spidey, I didn’t think anyone could tell a worse joke than me! Can I have your autograph, that was pure comedy gold.”

“Didn’t I give you my autograph months ago?”

“Oh yeah. Best day of my life. Keep it in my nightstand, for, you know…” Deadpool’s mask shifted as he waggled his brow.

“No, I don’t know nor do I want to,” Peter replied firmly.

“Oh, you know you do, Spidey,” Deadpool teased.

Peter was uneasy over the fact that not only did he have a pretty good guess as to what Deadpool was insinuating, but that he had even an ounce of interest in finding out if he was right. _Damn my morbid curiosity_...

“Large five cheese triple meat special!” Peter hurried to the counter to retrieve the well-timed pizza.

“Thanks.” Peter gingerly took the box, the cardboard almost translucent with grease. _This is going to be hell to get out of my suit. Wish I had a Tide Stick_ …

Deadpool held the door open for Peter and they made their way outside, returning to the alley Peter had emerged from 20 minutes previous. Peter webbed himself up and Deadpool followed by jumping up to the fire escape and climbing the stairs to the top.

“There’s a view of the park three buildings that way,” Deadpool offered, pointing north. Peter nodded in response, interested by the thought that the merc would care for the view, but not oblivious to the fact that the man was indeed human and allowed to appreciate life’s niceties like everyone else.

They reached the spot and settled down on the roof of the inner stairwell, the greasy pizza box situated between them. Peter rolled up his mask and grabbed a slice of pizza, humming at the incredible smell of melted cheese and sausage, his stomach impatient. He managed two glorious bites before realizing that Deadpool had yet to join him in their midnight snack. Oddly enough, the man even seemed a little tense.

“So,” Peter ventured, attempting to alleviate the anxiety in the air. “Do you come here often? The view is incredible,” he added hastily, trying to cover up the terrible trope of a pick up line. It garnered him a light chuckle.

“Yeah, sometimes. Always alone, though.” He shrugged and Peter went back to his pizza. From the corner of his eye, he saw Deadpool slowly reach for his mask, and after what seemed like a moment’s hesitation, pull the lower half up over his lips. Peter could just make out the outline of his lips in the dark, pressed together in a rigid line. He had no idea what the other man was so uneasy about. Peter took another bite and chewed slowly, formulating the only thing he knew to lighten the mood; another terrible joke.

Except this time, rather than just being bad itself, the joke had turned the night terrible.

As he reached the small neighborhood he currently resided in, Peter’s mind turned over the event’s implications, a small ache in his chest at the pain he’d seemingly caused.

Apparently, Deadpool had a complex about his face. Deeper than anything Peter would have imagined given the merc’s constant joking attitude, tendency to boast, and offhand sexual commentary. He’d heard that Deadpool had scars, maybe some sort of skin malady; superheroes talked and S.H.I.E.L.D. had public files on almost everyone. But nothing had given him the notion it was to such a point that Deadpool considered his appearance unbearable.

Peter tried to recall what Deadpool’s face looked like under the mask, but hadn’t been able to see much of anything in the dark of the night. All he’d managed to make out was the stern set of what seemed like a pair of pleasantly full lips. If Deadpool’s face really was so scarred, the full extent of his disfigurement was still was not something Peter was personally privy to.

He landed lightly on the roof of his apartment complex and scrambled down the side facing the back alley. Peter pried the unlocked window open and slumped against the wall, having finally reached the sanctity of his own room. Peter ripped off his mask and scrubbed his face with his hands, running his fingers up and through his hair before pushing off the wall.

Deadpool wasn’t supposed to be this difficult. He was supposed to be annoying and generally undesirable company, good for a fight in a pinch. He shouldn’t weigh on Peter’s mind this much. But Peter couldn’t ignore the fact that under whatever obnoxious reputation Deadpool liked to curate, there was a man with human emotions. Very insecure emotions.

“Shit,” Peter mumbled, flopping onto his bed. His stomach growled, angry at the pizza left abandoned on the distant rooftop. He’d only managed three bites before Deadpool had run.

Peter had been oblivious to everything else after that.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I have no idea where Peter stashes his credit card…  
> -I have to thank my friend Val for the arachnote joke!!!  
> -EDIT: I've had a number of people ask about Peter using a credit card and that giving away his identity. Honestly, my mind went right to one of those pre-paid deals that doesn't have a name attached, but I suppose calling that a "credit card" is a little misleading/confusing, so I have changed the wording to make everything more clear. That, or you can take the Schumacher route and just imagine it like the Batcard a la Batman and Robin. Never leave the web without it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He grabbed the cup and threw out a quick “thanks,” eyes darting around the shop in a flurry to discover the cause of his senses going haywire. _Business man, mother, kid, another kid, tableful of old ladies_ … “ _There_ ” Peter exhaled softly.
> 
> A man had just entered, tall, well-built, appearance normal save for the long sleeves and hood in 87 degree weather. Large sunglasses were tucked in the shadows, hiding the rest of his face. 
> 
> And he was staring pointedly at Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the wonderful comments on chapter one! I love hearing what my readers have to say and think about these two.
> 
> Once again I owe [cortexikid](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cortexikid/pseuds/cortexikid) a most heart-felt thank you for beta-ing.
> 
> I wasn't planning on posting this so quickly, but my brain's a bit stuck with chapter three, so I thought maybe just getting this out there to you all and seeing what you think might help.
> 
> :3

Wade jimmied the rifle in his lap, eye hovering close to the sight as he attempted to adjust his position and escape the branch that had jabbed its way into his shoulder blade. He fixed his position and pulled back, waiting for signs of movement. 

[This gig blows.]

{If by ‘blows’ you mean pays a ridiculous amount of money for taking out one child-trafficking billionaire, then yes, this job blows.}

[By ‘blows’ I mean we’ve been stuck in a tree for three days, in freaking Winchester, surrounded by a bunch of rich a-holes and their thieving help.]

{Meanwhile, watching Rosa steal from the Missus’s safe before she boinks the Mister during luncheon is better than any daytime soap.}

[ _Meanwhile_ , Mopey over here still can’t forget about the other night.]

Wade growled at his boxes, fed up with their company after three long and lonely days.

[Hey, don’t shoot the messenger! I’d much rather we concentrate on the nice pair of tatas on the third floor than that disaster of a dinner date.]

“They’re totally fake.”

[No way!]

“Yes. And who gives a flip what happened with Spidey.”

{Don’t tell us you don’t care.}

[You _so_ care.]

“Doesn’t matter, gotta go back sometime.”

[No we don’t. We could move to Miami. Sun ourselves on the beach, kick it with all the lovely ladies. Bea still my heart!]

“Can’t. Left all the boom-ables in the apartment,” he grumbled back. “Besides, I kinda like it there.”

{You like running into Spidey.} Wade twitched.

[Won’t like it anymore. Not after ‘the pizza incident.’]

“Doesn’t matter, Spidey doesn’t care about that. There…” Wade trailed off as a car pulled into the drive of the massive stone mansion he was situated behind. He pulled the gun back up and leaned forward, spying down the sight with practiced ease. 

A manservant in a neat black tux moved forward to open the back door of the Rolls, allowing a middle-aged man in a finely-pressed suit to step out. The moment he was clear of civilian casualties, Deadpool pulled the trigger and the man fell almost instantly.

Wade frowned. The click and kick from the rifle was not nearly as pleasurable as usual.

“Whatever, just pile the shit on,” he ground out as he quickly packed it in. It was time to make a hasty retreat.

Back to unavoidable memories.

Back to New York.

~*~

After collecting his pay at an undisclosed location in a seedy part of town, Deadpool wandered the city, a black duffel of cash slung loosely over his shoulder. He was aimless, possibly looking for a fight with whomever was tempted to make a go at the suspicious character carrying an even more suspicious bag. The singing didn’t help either.

“She works hard for the money. So hard for it, honey! She works hard for the money, so you better treat her right.”

{He’s baiting.}

[Don’t act surprised. We’re totally up for punching someone’s face.]

{Face punching _would_ relieve some tension.}

[Maybe.]

{Hopefully.}

“I’mma punch you two soon if you don’t shut it,” Wade growled, his eyes rolling up and back as if to view in the inside of head.

[Ooo yes, punch us right in the face. That’ll turn out _so well_.]

{He doesn’t think about our well-being very often, does he?}

[Case in point…]

The box trailed off as Wade reached the corner and froze, realizing where he’d ended up. He stood and watched as children ran through the small park across the street, their laughter echoing hollowly in his ears. How he’d arrived here, of all the places he’d rather not be, was a riddle he had little intention of solving.

[I can solve it for you in two words: you’re a masochist.]

{Thanks for the diagnosis, Dr. Phil.}

[Man I love Danny Devito.]

“It’s always sunny in New York,” Wade mumbled as he gave into the impulse to hoist himself up the fire escape.

[We’re not going to be very sunny once you reach the top of this building.]

{Add impulse control to the list of things to work on.}

The boxes were driving him mad. They wouldn’t shut up and just let him _do this_. But why was he doing this? It was stupid. Beyond stupid. Wade would reach the roof and walk out, look over the park and it would all come back. He knew Spider-Man probably didn’t bother with the why of Wade’s departure; what reason would he have to waste time contemplating Deadpool’s bizarre tendencies? But there was little chance of the webslinger completely forgetting his erratic behavior. 

Which just made the shame that burned in his gut all the worse.

Wade leapt up and over the ledge. Wrapped up in his own thoughts, he quietly made his way across the building until something smushed under his boot. He looked down to find the weathered cardboard of an overturned pizza box. Puzzled, Wade toed at the box until it flipped, revealing a smiling mustachioed man holding a pizza and the words “Joe’s: Famous Pies Since 1985” printed in blurry red and green ink. 

“What…?” 

He knew where the box had come from; there was no other explanation, no matter how good his brain was a stretching the plausibility of outrageous scenarios. 

Needing to know for certain, Wade shifted the box again to find the remains of a pizza glued to the tarred roof. It had been ravaged by the city “wildlife,” ravenous seagulls and the avian demons known as pigeons most likely. 

[Creepy little things, you ever look at their _eyes_?]

{Those glowing orange soul-stealers.}

[Too bad we don’t have a soul.]

{Debateable.}

[Suck it, pigeons!]

As Wade peered down at the pieces of hardened cheese, rain-soaked crust mush, and bits of molding meat, there was no longer a doubt as to this pizza’s origins.

[Origin Story scorecard: Pizza - 1, Us - 0.]

There was, however, a doubt as to why it was still there. If Wade knew anything about Spider-Man, it was that he was a hero, the altruistic “save-the-world” type. And saving the world didn’t include littering. Or wasting a perfectly good pizza when there were starving children in Africa. 

Then again, what did the world _really_ know about New York’s most evasive spider? Wade decided it was time to do a little digging on his friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

~*~

Peter’s cell vibrated against his desk, the buzzing it created booming in his over-sensitive ears as he tried to block out the continuous racket of the busy office. He hated working up here—with the computers and the people and the incessant noise—when he had a deadline to meet. If Peter could stick this out one more week, get all the numbers crunched and neatly presented in about eighty different Excel sheets and corresponding graphs before next Friday, he could finally turn this damned study in and hide away in the lab again for an undetermined amount of time. 

That was, if Cindy kept her half of the deal and finally finished editing the accompanying paper. As it was, she still hadn’t completed writing her own section up, let alone figured out how to splice it into the rest of the paper in a coherent fashion. But she’d insisted she should handle the chapter on molecular biostructure, citing that she was the more versed of the two as it had been her focus in the testing stages. It didn’t matter that Peter had had to know everything she’d done anyway in order to carry out the experiments successfully.

The worst part of it was, Peter couldn’t even keep an eye on her to make sure things were getting done, seeing as Cindy hadn’t come in today. Or maybe that was the best part. Peter didn’t know anymore.

The phone buzzed again and Peter let out an irritated growl as he rolled his eyes and reached for the offending piece of technology. 

“Three guesses who’s calling,” he mumbled darkly to himself.

He hit the home button and the screen lit up, showing him a number of texts from, unsurprisingly, Cindy. Peter tapped the default blue contact icon—there was no way he was spending effort to put her picture on his phone—and started scrolling through the blast of messages.

>   
>  **Peter, what was the nitrogen content for trial 15?**  
>  4:14 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Oh wait, I found it.**  
>  4:18 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Have you finished the results charts for compound HME? I can’t make them out with the way they’re written.**  
>  4:20 PM  
> 

>   
>  **What do you think about creating another subsection in chapter 3? I think it’d be better if we discuss the polymer’s chemical makeup on its own, rather than at**  
>  4:22 PM  
> 

>   
>  **the end there. Right now it seems like an afterthought.**  
>  4:22 PM  
> 

Peter set the phone down slowly and paused a moment, sure that anyone walking by would just as quickly scurry away, the look of contempt he wore so strong the wall might catch fire if he stared too long. Peter leaned forward, head falling into his hands as he heaved a sigh, then scrubbed his face vigorously until his cheeks felt warm.

“I need to leave. What time is it?” He peeked between his fingers and the monitor informed him it was 4:27. “Fine. Twenty-three minutes isn’t going to kill anybody. Except maybe me.” Peter picked his black-framed glasses up from the desk and nestled them neatly on his nose. He gathered his things quickly, shoved his laptop into its bag before slinging it over his shoulder and put the desktop to sleep. The last thing he did before leaving was grab a green sticky-note, scribble “Left early. Finishing up at home. -Peter” on it, and stick it to Dave’s computer as he walked by on his way out.

Peter burst out into the afternoon light with the force of a small hurricane. He breathed deep until his lungs could expand no further, then let it all out in an intensely satisfying _whoosh_. The muggy August air was slightly oppressive, but felt infinitely better than the dry cold of the office’s continuously running AC. Peter popped the top two buttons of his collar and let a small smile slip across his face. He could allow himself to relax for the few moments of freedom he had before reaching his apartment and getting back to work.

“I’m going to be up all night with this,” he murmured, long leisurely strides carrying him away from the massive bio-engineering complex. “Coffee is definitely the correct course of action.” And if it took up a few extra minutes to stop and get some rather than make his own, so much the better.

Peter hummed his way down the three blocks to the nearest cafe with a decent cup of coffee. Taking the moment to reflect, it surprised even himself how easily he’d let the frustration of just minutes previous slide right off. Aunt May had stressed the importance of being able to let things go since he was seven, but that wasn’t always Peter’s strong suit. He shrugged and gave it up to his mind finally collapsing under the pressure of it all and making a hasty retreat from his troubles the instant it had a chance.

Peter hardly noticed the crowd around him as he entered the shop, allowing his overtaxed brain to fuzz out and float on all the droning background noises New York had to offer. Waiting in line, he rocked back and forth on his feet, willing his eyes not to close as the summer heat enveloped him in its cozy embrace. After a few minutes Peter reached the front of the line, gave his order, then moved to the side as the barista busied herself with his drink. 

She called his name and Peter moved forward, reaching for the extended cup with an ease that was suddenly interrupted by the hairs on the back of his neck jumping to attention. He grabbed the cup and threw out a quick “thanks,” eyes darting around the shop in a flurry to discover the cause of his senses going haywire. _Business man, mother, kid, another kid, tableful of old ladies_ … “ _There_ ” Peter exhaled softly.

A man had just entered, tall, well-built, appearance normal save for the long sleeves and hood in 87 degree weather. Large sunglasses were tucked in the shadows, hiding the rest of his face. 

And he was staring pointedly at Peter. 

They made eye contact and the man immediately moved toward him, quietly side-stepping the other customers. Peter was tense, ready for whatever was coming, and set his cup down on the counter in anticipation of a confrontation.

As he brushed passed Peter, the man leaned in and asked in a low voice, “come sit with me?” He moved forward, chose a table in back and sat down, then continued to stare in an expectant but non-hostile way.

Peter had no clue what was going on, but it was apparent this man wanted nothing to do with the shop or its till. He was so done with any more crap the world wanted to throw at him today; he’d already clocked out and he intended to keep it that way. Peter picked up his cup and began making his way to the door.

“Hey!” a voice rang out over the crowd. “You’re Peter Parker, right?” Peter’s shoulders hunched up. He _really_ didn’t want to deal with whatever this was right now, but clearly the man had other plans for him. Peter turned around and made his way to the back of the cafe, avoiding the strange looks from a few of the other customers.

Peter took a seat and looked up at his new companion, trying to find a face in the hooded shadows. The aviators were ridiculously huge, but there was no hiding the smile on the man’s lips, surrounded by… mottled skin and… scars?

 _Holy shit, it’s Deadpool_.

“Yes?” Peter tried to hide the surprise in his voice as he coaxed his eyebrows back down his forehead. 

“Sorry to track you down like this, but I need your help.” Deadpool sounded calm, amicable even. It put Peter at ease, despite the crazy mixture of annoyance, curiosity, and fatigue rolling around his head. It was a tone Peter had yet to fully analyze, but it was always the most genuine voice the mercenary seemed to have.

“ _My_ help?”

“You are Peter Parker, right? You look like Peter Parker,” Deadpool leaned forward and Peter could just make out the furrowing of his brow, giving the distinct impression his eyes were narrowing behind the sunglasses. “Unless you’re his evil twin.” 

“No siblings here to speak of, twin or no twin.”

“Ah, good,” Deadpool breathed, relaxing back into his chair. There was a beat as Peter waited for further communication.

“Sooo, creepy as it is, you know who I am,” Peter supplied when his partner remained silent. “But I don’t know you…”

Deadpool bounced up.

“Oh! Name’s Wade. Wade Wilson,” he beamed. “We’re alliteration partners!”

“I suppose,” Peter offered, turning the name ‘Wade’ over in his mind.

“What about your middle name, hmm? Mine’s Winston, the full WWW. Creators really went all out with that one. Yours start with ‘P’ too?”

“No, my parents weren’t that cruel.”

“Ouch,” Wade drew a hand to his heart. “You’re mean for such a cute little fellow.”

“I wouldn’t call five-ten ‘little’,” Peter countered, his voice disgruntled.

“No, just littler than me.”

“Look, I’ve had a really shitty day and I just want to go home, so what can I help you with?” Peter tried to put the edge he felt into his voice, but it mostly came out sounding exhausted.

“You know Spider-Man, right?”

Peter bristled, then forced himself to ease up. He needed to remain cautious, but couldn’t come across as too guarded. Deadpool may have been a little looney, but one didn’t garner such an impressive reputation as a mercenary without having a few listening skills.

“What makes you think I know Spider-Man?”

Wade dug a newspaper out of his hoodie pocket and tossed it lightly on the table. “You take his picture.” Peter sighed.

“Oh, so you’re one of those,” he groused, playing into the scenario. “Adoring-fan-turned-super-sleuth, come to ask if I can get you Spider-Man’s picture?” It had happened before, more times than Peter would like to admit. He’d even considered working for The Bugle under a pseudonym. But that would have only weeded out the less-determined, and they gave up easily enough after a word from him to bother.

“Naw, already bought one on ebay.”

“Who uses ebay?”

“It’s a surprising lively marketplace I’ll have you know, Mr. Why-Bother-With-Anything-Other-Than-Amazon.”

“Well, _Wade_ , what do you need me for then?”

“Oh, that was a beautiful triple-W!”

Peter ignored the comment.

“I’m looking for info on Spider-Man. Intel.”

“And what makes you think you’re going to find any?”

Wade puffed up proudly. “Hufflepuffs are particularly good finders.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. Then, in a slightly imperious and nasally tone countered, “What the hell is a Hufflepuff?”

Wade practically squealed. “Oooo, you nailed Dylan’s voice!”

“I try my best.” Peter couldn’t help but feel a little smug.

“You’re starting to earn those nerd glasses. Wasn’t fully sure from the look of you. You’re so put-together.”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

“Preachin’ to the choir,” Wade mumbled.

“Hmmm?”

“Nevermind.” 

Another quiet pause settled in. It struck Peter that they were increasing as of late, these moments of silence. And all the more notable because they were coming from Deadpool, The Merc With A Mouth. 

“Anyhoo,” Wade’s tone picked up its nonchalant key. “I figured Spidey has to trust you, to let you take his pictures, so other than The Avengers you’re the most likely to know about him. And there’s no way they’d open their tight lips. Tony Stark can be one prim mother-trucker.”

A laugh spluttered from Peter’s lips, a second too late for him to stifle it completely. It was true; no matter how ostentatious and verbose Tony was 98% of the time, he could give you the grandma death-stare like no one’s business when he felt it warranted.

“Why do you need to know more about Spider-Man? He saves people when they need it and likes to keep his life outside the suit private. That should be enough for you.”

Wade threw his hands up, palms out in a placating manner. “Woah, no need to get upset. Look,” he leaned over the table and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I know Spider-Man. Well, not know him know him, otherwise I wouldn’t be here. But sometimes, we... team up, you know?” 

Peter tilted his head slightly and kept silent eye contact.

“Ok, promise you won’t freak out?”

“What am I supposed to ‘freak out’ over? That a strange man hiding in a hoodie has followed me into a coffee shop and is shaking me down for information on my supposed friend, Spider-Man?”

“No, I can tell your fortitude for weird situations is stronger than most. But everyday citizens usually don’t like finding out I’m a crazy mercenary. No one likes sitting next to Deadpool. Ooops, there it is.” Wade looked at him expectantly, apprehensive of the inevitable shriek-and-run.

It didn’t happen.

“Alright, so you’re Deadpool.”

“And you don’t care?” His voice was incredulous.

“I figure if you wanted to torture me for what I know, you would have already kidnapped me and had me tied to a chair, not sitting in a conspicuous coffee shop full of people.” Peter tried to sound flippant, hoping his demeanor didn’t blow any whistles or ring any bells in the merc’s warning center. 

“Mmm, smart and sassy, daddy likey.” Peter scoffed. “So yeah, me ‘n Spidey team up sometimes. You might even call us bros. But apart from his world-class sass, he doesn’t say much.”

“Some bros.”

Wade plowed on, ignoring—possibly not even hearing—the comment. 

“I don’t know much about him at all, other than he’s got the butt of an angel. By the way, are there Spanx sewn into that suit or is his ass just that legit?” Peter’s ears burned.

“I… I wouldn’t know.”

“Fair enough. Spidey’s probably the modest type anyway,” Wade mused wistfully.

“How much does Spider-Man know about you?”

“Comeagain?”

“I asked,” Peter reiterated, pushing through his embarrassment at Wade’s apparent fascination with his butt. “Does Spider-Man know anything about you? More than just the, you know, mercenary-who-can’t-shut-up thing?”

“I know I’ve talked about tacos. Tacos are delicious. And guns. Shiny, sexy guns. But I suppose that falls under the ‘mercenary’ category, doesn’t it?” Peter nodded. “No, can’t say as we’ve had any other heart-to-hearts before.”

“Well, why do you expect Spider-Man to tell you anything about himself if you don’t do the same?”

Wade was silent, contemplating Peter’s words. Peter really hadn’t thought they’d mean that much, but the man was apparently taking them to heart.

“You’re right.” Wade’s voice was low with acknowledgment. “Thank you, Peter.”

Peter was a little taken aback. 

“Um, you’re welcome.”

Wade stood up and moved to leave, stopping for a brief moment as he passed Peter. “See ya around,” he grinned down at him, then pushed his way through the crowd and out the door, disappearing into New York’s endless sea of people.

Peter turned back around and contemplated the back wall. Remembering his forgotten coffee, he picked it up and took a sip, grimacing at the taste of the now cold and bitter brew. This was definitely not the way he’d expected to spend his evening. 

Peter had to admit, though, that as strange as it was, he felt better than he had all day. Lighter. Even the prospect of the inevitable sharing-is-caring session Deadpool would spring on him the next time they met didn’t seem so bad. 

He knew that it should; anything that put his identity at risk should have him more vigilant. 

But as he sank into the chair and sipped at his cold coffee, Peter couldn’t seem to find anything more to worry about than when he needed to leave to catch the next train and which Chinese place to call for dinner tonight.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I apologize for how inaccurate any sciency things are. I have no idea how all the science and lab stuff works. I’d assume there would be some sort of separate space to write everything up after experiments are performed?
> 
> -The boxes are making Disney jokes. It seems I cannot write Deadpool without him making a Disney joke… Why is this a thing?
> 
> -It was originally just supposed to be a fun joke/reference, but I now love the head-cannon that Wade is a Hufflepuff.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s with the outfit?” a vaguely familiar voice questioned from behind, startling him out of the difficult decision between shredded Mexican blend or queso fresco. Wade turned and was met with a smirk on the most unexpected pair of lips.
> 
> “Peter?”
> 
> “Wade.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the wonderful comments! I love reading them and hearing what you have to think about our boys. 
> 
> That being said, I'm sorry this chapter took so long! I was expecting to get it out sooner, but after the incredibly easy time I had with chapters one and two, three decided to be a butt. But I hope to not keep you so long waiting for four!
> 
> As always, a heartfelt thank you to [cortexikid](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cortexikid/pseuds/cortexikid) for beta-ing, and [Hiekomi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiekomi/profile) for doing the final read-through. And thank you both for putting up with all my belly-aching.

[Well he was cute.]

{Forget Spidey and ask him out.}

[He even has a cute name. _Peter_. Mmmm.]

Wade scoffed. “Like he’d ever go out with me. Not after knowing I splatter people’s brains for a living.”

[He did seem rather unperturbed at that bit of information.]

{Ooo, good word! You’re learning much, young padawan.}

[Don’t look, I’m blushing!]

“Yeah, weird kid…” Wade cut in, silencing the boxes. “But I’m not asking Spidey out anyway. Just gonna make this buddy thing official!”

Wade was giddy at the prospect. Getting closer to Spider-Man? Learning all his spidery secrets? Pal-ing around town, knocking some heads, doing the “hero” thing. Then eating street tacos and starting World War III with a game of Mario Party… It was the stuff of dreams.

[Our dreams usually don’t come true.]

{Unless they end with us going squish. Those come true aaallll the time.}

[Not the good kind of squish either.]

Wade grunted in agreement.

{You realize Spider-Man sharing means _us_ sharing too?}

[Just like Petey said.]

{Tit for tat.}

[Heh, _tit_.]

“Sharing doesn’t mean skin. I doubt Spidey would take off his mask, and that means I don’t have to either. Everything else is fair game. And I’ve got a killer origin story!”

[ _Killer_ is right.]

{Which one are we going with in this universe, by the way?}

[Mama beat you?]

{Or mama loved you?}

[What about dear old dad?]

{And Killbrew? Dunno how much Spidey’d care for your “daring” escape from Weapon X.}

[We _murderized_ that place.]

{And where’s Ellie? How tragic is her story?}

[No tragedy there, unless you consider never having a kid a tragedy.]

{No Ellie this time?}

[Kids are complicated. The author’s lazy and isn’t confident enough in her Deadpool lore.]

“Are you two done with the exposition yet?” Wade huffed, exasperated at his boxes’ endless natter.

[It’s not us.]

{It’s her.}

“Whatever. Spidey will love my origin story. Not like I ever hid anything ‘bout my past anyway. He’s just never asked,” Wade reasoned.

“Besides,” he continued, his tone picking up its previous levity. “I’ve turned over some new leaves. Shot a few others, but I’ve been a good boy. I can even prove it. Show Spidey the new me. Go out on patrol with him, only shoot people in the kneecaps, really learn the whole hero thing. We can even have our own buddy-cop show, ‘Spides & Pool: Heroes in the Heartland’.”

{We’re not _in_ the heartland.}

“Well we can’t be ‘in a halfshell.’ Already taken.”

[Ugh, and we can’t come up with anything better?]

Wade was happy to keep this swerve in the conversation going. The boxes had a way of bringing up the harsh realities of his life, especially when things might be looking up. Even if Wade had built his Deadpool persona around his brutal and depraved past, that didn’t mean he enjoyed reliving it. He was inclined to share pieces of his past from time to time, but it was always on _his_ terms, treating marks or thugs to his sordid and storied background with a sigh and a wistful ‘good old days’ tone. It was easy to throw it all out there as a joke, and who were they going to tell anyway? Dead men tell no tales.

Unfortunately, he figured Spider-Man would have a more serious take on the matter.

Despite his boxes, Wade still couldn’t wait to meet up with Spidey and start regaling him with all his favorite things. Maybe he’d even twirl around Julie Andrews-style. Wade realized the past would come up at some point, but right now he didn’t want to think about it. Deadpool was always at his best when he was in the moment.

“Let’s go see Weaz,” he interjected into the early evening air, fingers wiggling excitedly. “He’s got some new toys in I’d love to get my hands on.”

As Wade moved down the street and away from the crowd, he reached into his pocket and retrieved his mask. Without removing his hood, he swiftly pulled it over his head, settling into the comfort of complete anonymity.

~*~

“What’s with the outfit?” a vaguely familiar voice questioned from behind, startling him out of the difficult decision between shredded Mexican blend or queso fresco. Wade turned and was met with a smirk on the most unexpected pair of lips.

“Peter?”

“Wade.”

“You remember me?” Wade’s incredulous tone was high and maybe just a little excited.

“You’re kinda hard to forget. And you’re wearing the same thing as the last time we met. Do you have anything else in your closet or what?”

“This and red spandex,” Wade responded, a little too confused to come up with anything other than an actual answer.

“Costume too tight for public?” Peter teased with a grin and a wiggle of his brow.

[Wait, is he _flirting_?!]

{I might say yes if this involved anyone other than us.}

Flirting or not, it was cute and the comment along with the situation and his boxes starting up again were triggering a cerebral overload. His brain reacted by kicking into auto-pilot, which either meant Peter would soon be listening to disconnected babble or straight answers Wade might not normally have been ready to give up.

“Too conspicuous,” he finally managed.

“And running around dressed like the Uni-Bomber isn’t?”

“You’d be surprised. No one gives a second glance to jeans and a dark hoodie, especially in New York. They _do_ notice Deadpool.”

“I wonder that you’re trying to hide.”

“Yeah, well people shrieking and running away from you gets a little tired after a while.”

Peter was silent, the smile having vanished from his lips. _Damn_ , Wade scolded himself. His voice might have been a bit too cutting with that one. He held up a brick of cheese and plastered on a smile, trying to lighten the mood.

“Plus it’s easier to check-out when there’s actually someone at the register.”

When Peter’s demeanor didn’t change and the awkward silence started settling in, Wade glanced around for anything to chase it away. He noticed three dozen eggs in Peter’s basket and had to wonder what anyone was doing with such an inordinate number of them.

“Why so many eggs? You have a Gaston complex or something? I hate to break it to ya, but you haven’t quite reached the size of barge yet if you do.”

[Wow, you really _scrambled_ for that one.]

{ _Groan_.}

Peter glanced down at the cartons then back up to Wade, a chuckle finally escaping as the joke registered. Wade rejoiced mentally. _Score one for Deadpool_.

“Oh. No, these aren’t all for me. My aunt and I,” Peter continued, his face starting to glow with a soft smile. “We kind of have this joke about eggs, so whenever I see her I bring some. And I needed to stock up because I’ll be visiting tomorrow.”

“That’s adorable,” Wade responded genuinely after a moment. He’d had few experiences of sincere human connection in his life, but Wade could tell when someone was cared for; from his demeanor it seemed Peter truly loved his aunt. “So I take it you’re pretty close with her then?”

“Yeah. We’ve made it a point to get together at least once a month, despite our busy schedules. It seems I’m always working, and her shifts at the hospital change so regularly… It can be difficult if we don’t make the time.”

“Wait,” Wade exclaimed perhaps a bit too loud, bouncing forward on his toes. “Your aunt works in a hospital!? That’s pretty B.A.!” Peter grinned.

“It _is_ pretty B.A., isn’t it? I’ll have to tell her tomorrow.”

Quiet settled between the two again, though this time it was easy, the air light around them. Peter shifted his weight from one foot to the other, but made no move to leave.

Wade rooted around his brain, trying desperately to find something— _anything_ —to say.

[I’m revoking his title. He acts like a speechless doof around this guy.]

{The Mouth has been dismantled.}

[This is going to ruin all of my Goonies jokes.]

{We always wanted to be a Corey.}

“So other than getting your aunt eggs, what’s a young thing like you doing in a supermarket at 11 pm on a Friday night? Shouldn’t you be out or something?”

“I am out. Buying groceries,” Peter responded evenly, but Wade picked up the cheeky spark in the subtle raise of his brow.

“Thank you Captain I-Already-Said-That.”

“Honestly,” Peter began after a moment. “It’s the first time I’ve been able to make it to the store this week. We just finished up a huge study that’s taken months. Technically the paper and reports were supposed to be in by five today in order to get them off to the journals for peer review, but I know Dave always schedules a few extra days for unforeseen complications and no one’s going to care that the timestamp on the file reads 10:23, they’ll just be happy to see it sitting in the shared drive tomorrow morning.” Peter took in a slight breath, held it briefly, then huffed out a small laugh. “Wow, sorry. I tend to be talkative as it is, but I guess seven hours total sleep over the last four days has turned me into a real motor-mouth.”

“No need to apologize for that one, I’ve talked an ear or ten off before. But _damn_ , seven hours in four days?” Wade punctuated the statement with a low whistle. Observing Peter’s face, he could see the bags under his eyes, the skin possibly darker than the rest of his features. It was hard to tell behind the aviators and Wade leaned forward to get a better look.

“You could probably see whatever you’re looking for better without the 80’s shades,” Peter said, his lips and eyebrow quirked in perfect synchronicity. “‘Sunglasses At Night’ is a great song, but not necessarily the best idea.” Wade shrugged, affecting nonchalance.

“I like to think of it more as a ‘Future’s So Bright’ kind of situation.”

“Nothing brighter than supermarket fluorescents, let me tell ya.”

“Look, I wear ‘em for a reason, Petey.” Wade winced internally; he’d cut across sharp again and hadn’t meant to. But they were delving into uncomfortable territory and it seemed Wade just couldn’t keep his cool jokester exterior up around Peter, damn the guy.

“As much as people don’t like to see Deadpool’s red mask roaming around, they especially don’t want to see this ugly mug gracing their presence.” He gestured to his face and let his hand linger in the air a few moments, hoping to emphasize the point. “Not everyone recognizes Deadpool, but everyone recognizes ugly.”

Peter frowned, the corners of his lips dipping in disapproval. “I find it hard to believe that you’re so unsightly people would make a scene. This isn’t a movie or a book you know.”

[No, just fanfiction.]

“And like you said, people hardly pay much notice in a city like New York.”

“Trust me, they’d notice this.”

Peter stepped forward, defiance clearly etched on his face, and Wade couldn’t help but shuffle back just a little.

“People are usually harder on themselves than everyone else is. We all take our flaws and amplify them exponentially. So I refuse to believe you until I have evidence telling me otherwise.”

Wade felt his hand and lip twitch simultaneously, the latter twisting up into a cruel sneer. The atmosphere between them had shifted again, sparks close to flying the charge hanging there was so heavy.

[Don’t fry the eggs!]

“Do you really want to know what I look like, Peter?” Wade all but growled. “A guy you just met and don’t know a thing about? Except that he’s a mercenary. Do you really want to push this?” Peter made no move other than to blink once, slow and deliberate. Wade ground his teeth. “ _Fine_.”

The boxes screamed at him, but Wade was a like petulant child and nothing could stop him as he tore the sunglasses off and pulled back his hood in a fit of rage. He felt the cool air from the refrigerated aisle wash over his bare scalp and clung to the glasses so tight they cracked.

Peter stood there and took him in, his expression unmoving, frozen in that daring frown that had driven Wade act so impulsively. His eyes were the only thing that shifted, barely perceptible in their movement as they slowly assessed Wade’s features.

They were crystal clear, the hazel irises almost amber in their golden intensity. Wade began to fidget and panic under their scrutiny, the realization that he’d recklessly revealed that which he tried hardest to conceal crashing to a head and pushing all other thought from his mind. Save for those eyes.

“You happy,” he finally managed, struggling to keep his voice as even as possible. Despite his best efforts, it’d still sounded strangled and Wade hated himself for his continued moment of weakness.

“Yes,” Peter responded, voice straightforward yet soft. “As a matter of fact I am.”

~*~

Peter sat back in his chair and gave a resounding sigh of relief, letting his head flop so that he was staring at the ceiling as he stretched his arms out in one long, lean length. His spine cracked as it bent over the hard wooden chair-back and he couldn’t help but groan at the sensation. Arching his neck further, Peter let his arms drop to dangle at his sides as he watched a fly buzz lazy circles over the mostly-untouched dinner still lying on the counter.

The last four days had been hell. Ten hour days at the lab followed by more work at home every night and his insistence on keeping up his patrol had Peter running on caffeine, a few random bites when he’d managed to remember to eat, and appallingly few hours of sleep. But he was finally done, the study uploaded in its 40 page entirety to the lab’s shared drive and backed up on his laptop, flash drive, and even hard copy, his printer still whining in the background as it pumped out the pages.

Peter felt like he was back in school, vacillating between the giddy high he’d felt the night his undergrad thesis was finally done and slumping under the nervous pressure of turning over the study his Master’s diploma had depended on. He’d worked in labs before, had short unpaid summer internships, and even collaborated with the esteemed Doctor Connors back in high school for a time before his tragic transformation into the Lizard. But all the pressures of school and past experiences still hadn’t lived up to the stress induced by his first study at his first real, full-time, paid internship at a world-renowned company. Of course the Cindy catastrophe hadn’t made life any easier either.

The exhausted intern slowly pulled his limbs back in and sat upright, closed his laptop and made his way over to the forgotten plate of reheated spaghetti. It was cold again, but Peter leisurely twirled the noodles around his fork and dug in. As he stood leaning against the counter enjoying the simplicity of the gummy noodles and slightly tacky sauce, Peter felt his brain finally begin to decompress. He would sleep well tonight and into tomorrow, possibly allowing himself to stay in bed well past noon.

The meal demolished, he moved to the sink to rinse off his plate and fork—dried spaghetti sauce stuck like glue—and noticed the calendar hanging over the faucet.

“Shit.”

The square for Saturday August 26th, _tomorrow_ , Peter realized, was marked ‘Aunt May’ in bold red letters. Luckily they’d agreed to meet at her place this time, which meant he didn’t have to worry about the shambles his apartment had fallen to in the last week. But he still couldn’t believe he’d forgotten about her. Peter’s heart burned with disappointment.

He set the dishes in the drying rack and moved to the fridge, opening it to reveal a jar of jelly, some yogurt, half a pizza from three days ago, and the usual assortment of condiments littering the door. Peter needed to go shopping, and he figured he might as well do it now before he inevitably forgot again tomorrow. There was no way he would let Aunt May down on their joke after all these years.

Rather than nip into the bodega two blocks over, Peter decided to take the extra fifteen minutes to walk to the all-night grocery store and enjoy the warm night air. Stretching his legs would do him good, and his wallet would be happier for the lower prices as well.

After reaching the store Peter had meandered through the aisles and picked up some apples, a box of Cheerios, and was fitting the three cartons of eggs in the bottom of his basket when he noticed a familiar figure at the other end of the refrigerated section.

 _Right height, right build, and yep, that’s the same hoodie from the coffee shop. Of_ course _Deadpool would be in the same grocery store as me, at the same time as me, standing in the way of the milk I need to eat breakfast tomorrow._

Peter moved forward, determined to not let the incredibly coincidental appearance of the merc rattle him. He waffled between saying something or just sneaking by to grab some milk before running, but when he was only a few steps behind the other man, his sleep-deprived brain switched his mouth into sarcasm mode.

“What’s with the outfit?”

Deadpool turned and Peter could see that along with a plain black hoodie identical to the one he’d worn the other day, the large sunglasses again rested high on the bridge of the larger man’s nose, painting a ridiculous picture in the middle of the supermarket so late at night.

“Peter?” Deadpool breathed, and Peter remembered that Deadpool wasn’t, in fact, his real name.

“Wade.”

“You remember me?” Wade’s incredulous tone was high and struck Peter as just a little odd.

“You’re kinda hard to forget,” Peter launched in, not knowing where on earth this conversation was going or what his brain was even thinking, if anything at all. He really needed to work on that before someone came up with a cute tagline for him. The Merc With A Mouth and the Wordy Webhead. God that’d be awful.

“Do you have anything else in your closet or what?”

“This and red spandex.”

With such a setup, Peter couldn’t help but tease about the disadvantages of a skin-tight costume. Wade, however, seemed to be supplying more serious answers, and as Peter continued to question the merc’s aversion to being noticed, he reacted in a way that was not wholly unexpected given their prior late-night incident. Peter clammed up as images from that night abruptly rushed back and Wade, not knowing it had been Peter sitting next to him on that rooftop, became awkward at the sudden silence, trying to make things right the same way Spider-Man had with his pizza.

Wade tried again for a joke, this time asking about eggs and Peter had to look to his basket before the reference registered. He explained the long-running gag, a genuine smile making its way across his face at the mention of Aunt May, and Peter was relieved to focus on something other than the unpleasant memory.

Finding out Aunt May was a nurse, Wade bubbled with energy, which left Peter feeling a little fuzzy at the thought of his 54-year-old aunt impressing a deadly mercenary. They shifted back to easy silence and Peter embraced the comfortable atmosphere. It was finally broken by Wade’s mundane question and Peter’s apparent need to babble an inordinately long reply, which other than being slightly embarrassing hadn’t been a problem. But then Wade tried to get a good look at him and Peter said the wrong thing again, snapping Deadpool back into a state of biting self-defence.

And for whatever bewildering reason—stubborn, he heard Aunt May’s voice ring—instead of backtracking, Peter continued to push. Against his own better judgement and past experiences with the man known as Deadpool, measly biophysics-intern-slash-amatuer-photographer Peter Parker had pushed. And Wade Wilson had complied.

After ripping away his hooded shield, Wade stared down at him and Peter could tell he was beginning to panic. But there was no way Peter was backing down. Not after coming this far. Doing so just would have validated all of Wade’s fears.

The man standing before him wasn’t beautiful, but he was no beast either. His entire face was covered in scars, all varying in size and depth, giving his skin an uneven color and texture. They continued on down his neck, disappearing under the black fabric of his hoodie, and Peter could only imagine how much more of Wade’s body was marred by them. There was no hair on his head or brow, but the bone was strong and extremely expressive. Eyes of deep chocolate gave the impression of a cornered animal, equal parts indignant and anxious.

“You happy?”

“Yes,” Peter responded truthfully, trying to reign in all the thoughts and emotions that were crashing around his mind in a turbulent flurry. “As a matter of fact I am.”

Wade twitched as if the pause between them was physically painful.

Peter knew his next words would hold meaning beyond his own comprehension so he chose them carefully, allowing simple sentiments to speak the volumes he knew neither he could express, nor Wade could currently handle. He kept his voice gentle.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that to you.” Brown eyes snapped up to his and Peter held the contact, feeling his own features soften in the moment. “Thank you, Wade.”

Wade remained frozen as Peter moved past him and on down the aisle.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Holy *%, how the hell do I come up with this much angst. I swear to god every time I write a scene it’s not supposed to get this sad and then it does. I’m so sorry Wade.
> 
> -And Peter, stop poking the unstable mercenary with a stick. It’s not good for your health.
> 
> -With this chapter I find out how old all my readers are with an abundance of 80’s references. 8D
> 
> ~*~
> 
> I have a question for all you lovely readers. I have a growing number notes for this story (it jumped onto eight pages with the last bit I added), and I was wondering if anyone would be interested in reading them when this whole fic is finally finished. Like as an addendum after the final chapter? Some of the ideas I have a very in-depth and I don't know if I'll be able to get all the background details in here, so I was just wondering if people would be interested in the behind-the-scenes. :3
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I, uh, I met someone... And I really don’t know how to handle it. Them.”
> 
> When Peter didn’t continue, Aunt May questioned further. “And this person is a friend? Colleague? Love interest?” Peter’s head shot up at the last.
> 
> “What? No!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kudos and comments! They really mean a lot to me. <3
> 
> I was wanting to get this chapter out sooner, but I hope the added chapter length will make up for the wait.
> 
> A super heartfelt thanks to [cortexikid](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cortexikid/pseuds/cortexikid) and [Hiekomi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiekomi/profile) for not only beta-ing, but also dealing with my author anxiety and continuous texts asking about a million things. You two are wonderful, wonderful people.

Peter hadn’t seen Deadpool for days, and if he was being honest with himself, he was relieved. He didn’t want to admit to the uncomfortable and uncalled for situations he’d created on his previous meetings with the mercenary. He was good at running from problems, especially when those problems ran from him. Uncle Ben would be so proud.

But Spider-Man had never taken it upon himself to be much concerned with Deadpool and his affairs, so really this situation shouldn’t have been any different. Except Peter knew that it was in almost every way. If he wanted to continue on his path of never becoming one of the cruel bullies or callous bystanders in life, Peter knew he couldn’t just leave this as it was.

Aunt May had helped him see that.

He’d been completely out of it Saturday afternoon when he’d shown up on her front porch, leaning on the doorbell long enough to end up just this side of annoying. It wasn’t that he hadn’t gotten enough sleep; the massive week behind him had been too much even for a brain that wouldn’t shut off and Peter had conked out the moment his head hit the pillow. But that didn’t mean his mind hadn’t decided to once again preoccupy itself with reliving all the stupid things he’d done in relation to Deadpool over the last few weeks the moment he woke up.

“Why are you using the doorbell?” Aunt May asked as she opened the door. “You know it’s always unlocked—Oh Peter, what’s wrong?” Her voice went up an octave in concern the moment she caught sight of him. “Come in! Get in here and sit down.”

She bustled him through the door and into the kitchen, pulling out a chair and giving it an insistent wave before turning to fill the kettle and set it to boil. Peter watched in silence as his aunt worked swiftly to pull his favorite tea from the cupboard and ready two mugs for the impending hot water. He couldn’t help a small smile at the way she fussed over him the moment she suspected something was amiss.

She turned and frowned at him. “I thought I told you to sit! You look like you’re about to fall over.” Peter’s smile turned sheepish at the observation, knowing the bags under his eyes were purple as a bad bruise.

“I brought eggs,” he offered as an excuse, fishing the carton from his messenger bag as he made his way to the fridge. Peter held them up for her to see before fitting them into a corner of the top shelf. Aunt May let out a soft snort and grinned as she shook her head.

“Thank you. That was very thoughtful.” Her expression shifted back to serious. “But what I need you to be thinking about is taking care of yourself! What on earth has you so exhausted?”

She reached for the kettle as it began to whine and Peter took the opportunity to snatch the mugs from the counter and place them on the table. As he pulled the strap of his bag up and over his head, Aunt May filled the mugs and placed the kettle on the ready potholder in the middle of the table. Before he sat, Peter pulled the adjacent chair out for his aunt and returned her half-hearted scowl with a smirk. She breathed a long sigh.

“You never listen, do you Peter?”

“Uncle Ben taught me well.”

“That he did.” Her voice played at exasperation, but Peter knew it was mostly for show. “You can’t always be taking care of me. You have to think of yourself sometime. I can pull out my own chair, I’ve been doing it for 54 years now just fine.”

“ _All_ 54 years, huh?” Peter teased. Aunt May inclined her head, eyes rolling up to keep him locked in a steady gaze over the top of her glasses. The set of her lips matched the furrow in her brow.

“He taught you a bit too much, it would seem.”

“Yeah. But I learned how to take care of others from my Aunt May. Very nice lady. Have you seen her?” he asked coyly over his mug. He took a sip as she continued to frown. “ACH! Hot!”

Peter quickly set the mug down and started drawing in air over his scorched tongue, cursing himself for thinking boiling water would be consumable after only a minute in a cup. Aunt May chuckled and moved to the freezer as Peter stuck his tongue out and continued to breathe deeply.

“Here,” her voice came from above. Peter glanced up and was met with a grin and a tray of ice. “For your sharp tongue.” He grabbed one of the ice cubes and quickly popped it into his mouth. “I’m sure here would be an appropriate time to make a comment about being careful what you say lest you get burned,” Aunt May continued as she resumed her seat kitty-corner to Peter. “If I was the kind of person who said such things.”

“Whuurd oo ‘hink I ‘urned et?” Peter managed around the ice.

“Peter Benjamin Parker,” she exclaimed, an indulgent grin on her face.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Peter’s gums began to freeze and he pulled the ice from his mouth, dropping it in into his drink before any real discomfort could begin to settle in. Aunt May tsked.

“Now that’s not polite table manners, and I _know_ I’ve taught you better in those.”

“Yes Aunt May,” he chorused like a penitent child, lips curling upward as he glanced her way. She returned the expression with a quirk of her mouth, and they settled into the quiet tranquility of each other’s company with habitual ease.

Peter wrapped his hands around the warm mug and luxuriated in the lull his mind had finally seemed to allow itself to fall into. Aunt May always had a way of making him feel at home, like he was a kid again with little to worry about other than the night’s homework and how to convince her to let him stay up past nine. He knew the familiar surroundings were part of it. But her kind nature, the way they could tease each other and never have it cross the line of being hurtful, and the way she picked up on everything that seemed to be going on even when _he_ still hadn’t quite figured it out meant that with her, he was safe. Aunt May was Peter’s security blanket personified.

“So how has work been?” Aunt May’s even voice finally broke the silence. “After hearing so much about this important study you were going to be working on and then almost nothing from you for weeks, I assume it’s the reason you look like death warmed over.” Peter’s brows peaked at his aunt’s turn of phrase.

“‘Death warmed over’,” he asked incredulously.

“I can’t say that now? It’s an old phrase, Peter. What am I, 106?” Peter chuckled.

“No. And I’d never say you were.”

He studied his aunt over his mug, taking in all the lines that had accumulated over the years as they drew up around her smile to make it deeper and all the more genuine. Her greying brown hair was pulled back in a wispy bun, fly-aways simultaneously betraying her active nature and softening her features into an easy feminine charm. He’d seen pictures of her younger self and knew she’d been beautiful. But even after 54 years of hard New York living, you could still see traces of her youthful grace in the rise of her cheeks and the set of her jaw. Her eyes, Peter knew, would burn as vividly as they did at 16 until the day she died.

When he was younger, she’d been more strict. Even as a teenager, he recalled thinking her a nag on many occasions and sharing a secret eye roll and smile with Uncle Ben when her voice became a bit too clipped. But she’d still always been caring and nurturing to the both of them, and he’d never gotten more grief from her than the average child could claim from a parent.

After Uncle Ben died, Aunt May had bogged herself under the weight of keeping their household afloat and sometimes Peter felt as if he were walking on eggshells just to keep the smile on her face. Yet as time wore away her grief-induced silence, Peter noticed her begin to relax more and stress less. He came to realize as he himself aged, took on more responsibility, and eventually moved out, that she’d always been playful at heart; someone who’d rather laugh at life rather than bemoan it. That part of her personality had just taken a backseat to taking care of two troublesome males for eleven years.

Peter took a sip of tea—thankfully not scalding this time—and let out a sigh as he felt everything within him decompress.

“Work’s been difficult, yes. Finally turned everything in yesterday, though. No thanks to Cindy.” He couldn’t help but add in the dig; the thought of Cindy’s work ethic, or lack thereof, irritated him to no end.

“Cindy? Cindy Cindy Cindy… Oh yes, your partner, right?”

“Mmm, if you want to call her that I suppose it’s the technical term.”

“I hope you’re not being unfair?” Her mouth was a slant of gentle scrutiny.

“I wish,” he huffed. “But no, I gave her a chance. I gave her three chances!” He glanced back over at his aunt. “I feel like I’m back on a high school group project that no one but me contributes to. Except the grade we each get at the end of the semester tells us who has a chance of getting hired and who has to find another job in October.”

Aunt May hummed and Peter realized he’d picked the habit up from her. “Well, as stressful as a potential future job hunt is, don’t let it weigh you down too much. You’re always going to have to work with people you don’t like, Peter.”

“I know. I think I’ve made it to the point where I’m as comfortable with that fact as anyone can be. It’d be pretty sad not to have reconciled myself to the pitfalls of adult life by now,” he finished with a wry grin.

“You’d be surprised."

At his aunt’s simple response Peter’s mind swiftly wound back, the words echoing in his ears, taking on a deeper octave after every repetition until the baritone of Wade Wilson crashed through his subconscious to the forefront of his thoughts. ‘ _You’d be surprised_.’

His brain whirred and Peter felt the weight settle itself back onto his shoulders as he physically slumped forward over the table. He tried to school his face back into the affable calm he’d finally managed to settle into, but Peter knew the crease in his brow was back and there’d be no hiding it from his aunt.

“Oh, there it is again. Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you, or is this one of your secrets I’ll never get to know?” Peter winced. As easygoing as Aunt May had become over the last few years, she was still sharp when it came to the things she knew he kept from her.

“No.”

There was a silence and Peter stared at the blue forget-me-not pattern painted on the side of the kettle. He followed the flowers’ branching stems up to where they met with and flowed onto the wooden handle as he contemplated exactly what to tell Aunt May. There was so much, and he didn’t understand most of it himself. How could she expect him to share it when he didn’t know what _it_ was?

“I, uh, I met someone... And I really don’t know how to handle it. Them.”

When Peter didn’t continue, Aunt May questioned further. “And this person is a friend? Colleague? Love interest?” Peter’s head shot up at the last.

“What? No!”

“Just inquiring,” she placated lightly.

“He’s, an acquaintance, I guess.” Peter stopped again, wondering how much of the story to divulge. Did he tell her that they’d known each other already? Did he mention the stupid things he’d said to upset Wade? Or that instead of trying to find a way to make it better, last night he’d just pushed it even further?

As he thought about what he’d done in the supermarket, Peter felt the slight burn of bitter embarrassment creep across his cheeks. He mentally moved through the night’s events and found the thing that made the knot in his stomach grow tightest. Peter knew he couldn’t explain everything to Aunt May, but he could at least tell her about this.

“Does he have a name?” Aunt May prodded innocuously.

“Wade.”

“Well now that’s a name I haven’t heard in awhile. Pretty uncommon.” She smiled at him as an encouragement to continue.

“Yeah. Well, when we first met, he was kind of hiding himself under a hood and sunglasses. Then I saw him again last night.” Peter debated whether to tell Aunt May he’d pressed Wade to show himself, but quickly decided he didn’t need her berating him when he was already doing such a fantastic job himself. “I actually got to see his face this time…” Peter took a steadying breath and launched in.

“I feel awful saying it, but I was shocked. His skin was just so… It looked _painful_ , the way it was stretched and pocked and just blotchy red in so many places. When I think about it now, it has to give him hell. _Every day_. But all my brain said in that moment when I first saw him was 'oh my god.' I couldn’t think of anything other than how different he looked. I wasn’t scared or repulsed or anything else I know he thinks people think of him, but I still couldn’t get over what he looked like. And that’s so wrong of me.”

Peter tore his eyes away from the kettle and met his aunt’s sympathetic gaze.

“I thought I was a better person than that,” he added softly. Aunt May frowned.

“You are a good person, Peter, and everything you just said proves it. A shallow person wouldn’t give a second thought to how this man feels as you have, or struggle with themselves over it. But the moment you make this about yourself, that’s when you’ve crossed the line.”

He struggled to understand what his aunt meant, completely thrown by her last words, and he gave her a questioning look in an attempt to beg her to continue.

“I’ve lived quite a while and learned a bit along the way. I can’t claim to have all the answers, but working in a hospital these past few years has given me perspective when it comes to people and illness.

“I will tell you right now, Peter, that there are doctors and nurses that have worked in that hospital for decades, and they have seen tens of thousands of patients come and go. After so many years, there’s a part of you that starts to become numb to the things you see, just to get you through the day. But a doctor or a nurse who never loses their compassion never loses that feeling, the impact and emotion of a patient.

“Fair or not, it’s human instinct to react. How you consider the person after the fact is what matters.”

Peter was quiet as he took everything in. He could see the truth in Aunt May’s words, but they still didn’t all connect and he worked to piece it together, considering his own actions and thoughts in relation to this new bigger picture.

“Everything tells me I’m a bad person for taking his appearance like I did. Even after a few moments I still couldn’t just _ignore_ it. But wasn’t so big of a deal anymore.” Peter paused again, giving himself more time to mull it all over.

Everything always seemed easier to process in Aunt May’s presence, possibly due to her encouragement of his contemplative mind. Even as a child, the reflective silences that stretched between them when it was time to discuss something important felt subdued rather than agitating.

“I think you’re saying it’s important that I understand my own reaction, but not to forget about him. It’s still so confusing. But it’s probably one of those things no one understands right away.”

He looked up and met his aunt’s gaze as she watched him calmly. She gave him a small smile, which Peter returned with an added ‘thank you’ before moving his attention back to his cup. They sat in easy silence together, finishing their tea as the minutes ticked by on the old wooden clock.

When Aunt May finally stirred, it was to get up and busy herself about the kitchen, fixing sandwiches for lunch as she asked Peter if he’d be staying for dinner as well. When he garnered a laugh from her by throwing back that it all depended on what she planned on making, he knew they’d moved back into the pleasant space he most enjoyed sharing with her. They finished out the evening with meatloaf and a game of Scrabble, and Peter made his way home in a decidedly better mood than the one he’d arrived in.

~*~

Deadpool wandered through the city streets and back alleys in a seemingly aimless fashion, boots soft on the pavement and movement deliberately at ease. A low whistle on his lips was the only noise he allowed, a stark contrast to his normal behavior.

[I’ll say! What are we doing, sneaking around like this? Sooo boring!]

 _Looking for some bad guy butt to kick_.

{Well we certainly picked the seediest part of town to do it in.}

 _Raises our chances of finding a good throat to punch_. Wade emphasized the point by cracking his knuckles.

[Oooh, yes! And you even brought our favorite gun! Let’s find someone quick. BAM! Headshot!]

 _No headshots_.

[What?!]

{You know his deal.}

[Yes, but whyyyy?]

{You are horrifically whiny today.}

 _You know why, you were there for that decision_.

[Doesn’t mean I agree with it.]

 _Well you could leave at any time. Make my life a hell of a lot nicer_.

[Oh now that’s cruel. We’re friends. Buddies. You can’t _live_ without me!]

{We certainly could try.}

[Come on now. One voice in your head would just be lonely, the wind echoing through the big hollow space in your skull the moment I left.]

_Now who’s being cruel? “Big hollow space” in my skull? Where do you—_

“EEYYYAAAA!!!”

{Oh now _that_ sounds like what we’re looking for!}

“On our way, m’am!” Deadpool shouted into the night air, sprinting off in the direction the high shriek had come from. “Deadpool’s ready to _Avenge_ some bystander ass!”

After a few blocks he turned a corner onto a dingy street and saw a young woman struggling against a much larger man in a grungy overcoat, black baseball cap pulled low as he nuzzled his face into her neck. He held her from behind, arms pulled back in a painful twist of her shoulders as he gripped them with rough hands.

“Couldn’t be any more comic-book typical, could it,” Deadpool sniggered as he sauntered over to the scuffling pair. “Excuse me,” he said calmly when he was in earshot. The man didn’t seem to notice, but the woman saw him, her eyes going wide then quickly narrowing as she began to kick at her assailant’s shins, the appearance of a potential savior spurring on her efforts. Wade grinned at her tenacity.

“AHEM,” Wade cleared his throat in the most obnoxiously loud voice he could manage. “I said _excuse me_. You’re being rather rude here.” The creep finally took notice and glanced up, taking a moment to fully register the fact that there was actually someone standing before him, challenging his right to rape this girl. Wade sneered under his mask. People disgusted him.

The rapist shifted his grip and managed to pull a switchblade with his now free hand, the other still tightly clasped around his victim’s wrists. “Git outta here before I cut yeh,” he ground out. “This ain’t none of yer business.”

“Handsome _and_ eloquent,” Wade exclaimed, his voice cynically saccharine. He sidled up to the goon and continued. “No wonder this date’s going so well.”

“He’s got a knife,” the woman interjected, her voice high and trembling.

“That’s not a knife,” Deadpool smirked through his shoddy accent, leaning over to pull a large bowie knife from his boot sheath. “ _That’s_ a knife.” He held it up reverently, the cold steel shining in the glow of the yellow streetlights.

{How long has he waited to say that?}

[Probably since he bought that knife three years ago.]

In a split second, Wade had disarmed the now terrified assailant and pressed the knife to the delicate skin of his neck. “Now,” Deadpool whispered maliciously. “You’re going to let the lady go and we’re gonna have a little talk, man to man.” He scraped the blade across blanched flesh for emphasis.

“Y-yes ser.” His eyes wide, the man let go of his victim and pushed her away. “See, ain’t no harm done.” Deadpool tsked.

“That’s no way to treat a lady,” he stated, having switched back to a honeyed tone. “Apologize.”

“I’m s-sorry, M’am.”

“And you’ll never do it again.”

“No, I won’t ever do it again. Just let me go, mister, please! I swear!”

“Oh, well, we’ll find ways of making sure you keep that promise.” The man’s head swiveled and Deadpool delighted in the horror reflected in his bulging eyes before delivering a swift punch to the gut, knocking him out in a shock of pain. The body folded over and crumpled onto the pavement, Wade stepping out of the way to allow it to hit with full impact and a loud thud.

“You okay?” Wade questioned in as even a tone as he could manage, still regarding the heap of worthless flesh at his feet. When there was no reply, he turned to find the woman had vanished. He heaved a large sigh. “No one appreciates a good saving around this city anymore. Now, what to do with this scum?” He toed the man as he pondered his options.

[We could take him home, show him a good time. That is what he was gunning for tonight.]

“No.” Wade’s voice was hard and unrelenting.

{Dude, I can’t believe you’d suggest such a thing! You _know_.}

[Ah. Yeah. Sorry big guy.]

Wade grunted and ignored the boxes as best he could. He decided it wouldn’t be too difficult to haul the man over to the closest precinct and drop him off. Unfortunately, without any evidence or report from his victim, the criminal would be free as soon as he came to. A statement from Deadpool certainly wouldn’t carry much weight. But it would possibly give the man even more of a scare to wake up in the drunk tank, so Wade gave it up as his best opportunity to prevent this from happening again. He wasn’t very hopeful.

He threw the body gracelessly over his shoulder like a lumpy sack of potatoes and hauled himself up the nearest fire escape, rooftops being the route of least impediment. He certainly wouldn’t run into anyone who wanted to question why Deadpool was carrying what appeared to be a dead man over his shoulder. The point of tonight was to _not_ make it into the newspapers.

After some quiet travel time, the unassuming building that housed the 73rd Precinct came into view and Wade eyed his options for a drop-off point. It was late and half the lights were off in the back offices, so he figured that was as good a place as any. He made his way back down to the street, crept around back, and leaned the man up against the rough stone wall.

A small bottle was quickly procured from one of his pouches, followed by a notebook, pen, and a mangled roll of masking tape. After ripping the cap off the airline-sized bottle of cheap liquor with his teeth, Wade channeled his inner expressionist and splattered it all over his living canvas like Jackson Pollock. He followed up by scribbling out three sloppy notes and taped one to the man’s forehead. It read “I’m the drunk,” and Deadpool chuckled at how absurd he looked with it plastered to his face. The sheet with the choicest words was folded and tucked into the man’s inner coat pocket for him to find at a later date. There may have been a small accompanying illustration, and he wished he hadn’t lost his red crayon to emphasize the blood. The last note was taped to the closest lit window. Before scampering off, Wade threw a rock against the glass to get the attention of one of the officers, hoping they’d see the crumpled paper that read “There’s a drunk outside! ;)” and start investigating.

[Well that was fun. Not.]

{Hey, we got to punch a guy. Punching guys is fun.}

[Shooting guys is better.]

“Shooting guys isn’t very hero-like,” Wade frowned.

[Says the guy who sniped that overstuffed banker the other day.]

“You know the deal, I only—”

Wade cut off as he felt a presence behind him. He spun around and met with the open night air. A moment later, Spider-Man silently dropped down onto the lip of the rooftop.

“Uh, hi,” came the hero’s voice after a few beats of silence. When he timidly waved, Wade positively radiated excitement.

“Spidey!”

“Hey Deadpool.” He sounded a little hesitant, but that wasn’t anything Deadpool wasn’t used to.

“To what do I owe this enchanting encounter?”

“I just happened to be swinging by, you know, and—no.” Spider-Man interrupted himself, tone suddenly stern. “I… came here to talk to you.”

“ _Whaaat_?” he questioned, dragging it out in his best Aziz Ansari impression. “You wanna talk to little old me?”

“Yes,” Spider-Man replied, taking a step down and few closer. This was really starting to turn into an interesting night.

“Okay.” Wade was beyond curious, but he held his ground and let the other man come to him. Spider-Man took another tentative step forward and stopped when they were only a few feet apart.

“...”

[Oh look, we can do that too!]

{...}

[...]

_Really?!_

[Well hey, if he won’t talk, someone’s got to. The readers are getting bored.]

Wade grumbled audibly and that seemed to spur Spider-Man on.

“I wanted,” he began timidly, pausing again for what the boxes commented could only be for dramatic effect. “I want to apologize.”

Wade waited, but when no further explanation was forthcoming, he inquired.

“For…?”

Spider-Man scuffed his feet and Wade’s lips curled into a smile. Spidey really could be adorable sometimes.

“The other night. With the pizza. I didn’t mean anything by it and I… I didn’t know…” he trailed off again.

Wade felt a small pang at the recollection of the evening, but brushed it off in light of the miraculous apology that was unfolding before him.

“Hey, don’t sweat it, Spidey! That was like, three weeks ago. I can’t even remember that far back!”

“Yeah maybe. But I still need to say it.” Spider-Man looked straight at him and Wade wished he could see behind those large, emotionless lenses. “I’m sorry, Wade.”

The words hit him like a ton of bricks and he squatted down, needing to get closer to the floor, taking comfort from the feeling of curling in on himself, a fetal shelter in the open air of the dark night. Suddenly Spider-Man’s apology wasn’t just his own as Peter’s words from the supermarket rushed in and filled Wade’s mind with a suffocating haze.

“...you okay?” Spider-Man’s concerned voice started filtering in. “Deadpool? What’s wrong?”

Wade looked up and was met with Spider-Man kneeling before him, head tilted and a hesitant hand hanging in the air as if not sure whether touch would be an appreciated comfort. He wasn’t quite sure himself at the moment.

“Aahh,” he began, hating how his voice trembled in his throat. “I guess it’s my turn to be sorry, Spiderbabe.” He grasped at the playful name like it was a life-line, a link to his normal absurdity. But even as it left his lips, it still didn’t feel quite right.

“Hey, I just wanna know you’re okay in there.”

Deadpool chuckled hollowly. “Not sure if ‘yes’ will ever be the answer to that one.”

“What happened? Not that you need to tell me,” Spider-Man suddenly panicked, backtracking as fast as he could. “If you don’t want to.”

Wade’s head dipped as a low laugh started deep in his chest, menacing and depraved as it grew and made its way past his lips. He knew he must sound like the madman everyone took him for and Spider-Man would hate being laughed at for offering emotional support. But the truth was it was a laugh of disdain, of self-pity, his mind snickering at his complete breakdown in front of another person. A superhero at that. Spider-Man.

“If you really want to know,” Wade began, lifting his head from where it was cradled between his knees. “I just thought of your friend Peter. He… he’s a weird kid.” There was no way to elaborate without pitching himself back into the emotional hole he was just starting to emerge from.

Spider-Man was silent for almost a full minute and Wade didn’t think a response was coming until the hero surprised him with a soft ‘oh.’

“He uh, said you met at a cafe?” he continued questioningly.

“Among other places.”

Spider-Man stood and turned to face out over the edge of the building. “Well I haven’t seen him in a while, so I don’t know…”

“He’s kind of a pushy asshole, isn’t he,” Wade interjected. Spider-Man spun back in shock and Wade couldn’t blame him; he hadn’t expected that of himself either.

It’d been four days since his chance encounter with the scientist-slash-photographer and like most things that perturbed Wade at such a level as the other man had, he hadn’t been able to get him out of his mind. His reaction—or rather lack thereof—to Wade’s skin and subsequent apology had managed to simultaneously confuse, scare, and intrigue Wade, leaving him completely bewildered. Peter was an enigma, a ball of nebulous actions and words that Wade stood tentatively on the edge of, wondering if he could handle poking it with a stick to see what emerged.

“I mean, what’s up with that guy?” he plowed on, unable to shut his mouth as his perverse fascination with Peter took over any common sense he may have been able to pull together. “Among other things, he doesn’t freak out over the fact that he’s talking to a mercenary and acts like the meat-mush that is my face isn’t the most horrifying thing he’s ever seen in his life.”

There was a quiet beat before Spider-Man surprised Wade again by answering a question he’d assumed had become rhetorical.

“He’s… been through a lot in his life,” he offered as explanation. “I guess things don’t phase him much anymore.”

“He’s doesn’t look that old. What could have happened to someone that young?” It was a genuine question and man wasn’t Wade just full of the unexpected tonight.

“I can’t really say,” Spider-Man acknowledged. “That’s something he’d have to tell you himself.” Wade grunted in assent.

In the moments of silence that stretched between them Wade began to picture Peter, starting with the intense hazel eyes that had held him rooted to the grocery store tile. Then the sly curl of his pale rose lips swam into view, followed by the perfectly tousled mess of brown hair atop a face almost too narrow to be considered attractive. But his thick brows and square jaw gave just enough counter-balance to land Peter solidly in the boy-next-door category. In Wade’s mind, attractive was an understatement.

{Finally a physical description!}

[I was legit worried for a sec there Stephenie Meyer had started writing Spideypool fanfic.]

{No, definitely not Stephenie Meyer. Dude was too much of a dick to be one of her Mary Sues.}

[Whatever. He can Mary Sue my dick any day.]

Wade conceded that Yellow had a point.

“Hafta admit, though,” he continued aloud, allowing himself to be side-tracked onto this much more pleasant train of thought. “Little guy was pretty cute.”

“Little,” Spider-Man questioned, his tone unreadable.

“Yeah. Well, it was kind of hard to tell if there was anything other than lank to those limbs, but he didn’t look too buff,” Wade stated, flexing his arms as comparison. Spider-Man sighed.

“Don’t worry, Spidey. You’ve still got the best tush in tights.” He winked and wondered if the hero could actually see it.

“Well it sounds like you’re back to normal.” It was a statement, but Wade could hear the slight question behind the words. He brightened at the web-head’s continued concern for him and suddenly remembered his secret mission. If the interest Spider-Man had shown in his well-being tonight was any indication, Operation Best Bros Forever was definitely a go.

“Hey Spidey,” Wade’s voice bubbled over as he jumped up from the crouch he’d sustained for far too long. He took the chance to extend his stretch in order to loom close the other man, intentions hidden behind a roll of his shoulders and the back-and-forth crack of his neck. “You wanna maybe do something sometime? I was thinkin’ video games or we could do dinner again or whatever. Like superhero bros,” he made sure to add to proove his motive pure.

“Uum,” Spider-Man shuffled again and Wade could tell he was trying to figure his way out of it. The air left his lungs with the release of the expectant breath he’d been holding.

“I dunno, I’m usually pretty busy with the all the hero stuff.”

“Yeah, no, I got’cha.”

“I guess we could team up sometime, though?” he continued unexpectedly and Deadpool jumped at the chance.

“Sure! Any time! Just holla at me, baby boy!” Spider-Man chuckled lightly and Wade thought he’d die at the sound. “You need my digits?”

“Would probably help.”

Wade practically dove into a pouch to retrieve the notepad from earlier. He ripped out a random page and hastily scribbled the numbers in black Sharpie.

“Here,” he beamed, shoving the torn page at his new “partner.” Spider-Man took it and held it up as he gave his thanks.

“Well, I should probably get going,” he stated, folding the paper neatly.

“A little spider sleep’s probably a good idea,” Wade giggled. “See ya next time?” he questioned as Spider-Man moved to the edge of the rooftop.

“I’ll call you.” The arachnid hero saluted, extending his arm out from his forehead to shoot web over to the next building before swinging out and away.

“So cool,” Wade gushed as he watched red and blue sway back and forth down the streets, shrinking into the distance and the blur of the city lights.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of this chapter were really difficult to get right, I hope I'm doing the tough subject matter justice.
> 
> I LOVE Sally Field as Aunt May. She is the best Aunt May. I feel like Aunt May will never not be Sally Field to me. I wish she’d been in the movies more. Can I just have a movie about Aunt May? I love Sally Field. (I also totally just re-conned Aunt May’s age from the last chapter. Sorry. I mathed it and 54 makes more sense to me.)
> 
> Got some more insight on how doctors handle work-related emotion [here](http://www.kevinmd.com/blog/2013/01/dealing-psychological-stress-doctor.html).
> 
> Doing more research on the different boroughs and neighborhoods of NYC is kind of exhausting. The city is so huge and varied. If anyone knows about NYC and anything I write needs correcting, please let me know, you’d be a lifesaver. Anyway, I used these two sites to help out with precincts and crime statistics around the city:  
> [NYC precinct map](http://www.nyc.gov/html/nypd/html/precinct_maps/precinct_finder.shtml#)  
> [crime stats](https://www.addressreport.com/blog/safest-neighborhoods-in-nyc-most-dangerous-neighborhoods-in-nyc/)
> 
> Thanks millions to [cortexikid](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cortexikid/pseuds/cortexikid), who actually came up with the lines {Finally a physical description!} and [I was legit worried Stephenie Meyer had started writing Spideypool fanfic there for a sec.] after I mentioned to her I was as bad as Stephenie Meyer for waiting this long to stick in a physical description of Peter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I can’t begin to express my gratitude over all the comments, kudos, and bookmarks you all have bestowed upon me. It gives me so many warm fuzzies. So, so, SO much love for you all. 
> 
> This chapter’s a bit different from the rest. Think of it as kind of a bridge from the beginning chapters to the next section. :)
> 
> For clarification, this is Spider-Man/Peter’s phone. All of his texts are to the right-hand side. For a more authentic experience, read on your phone or shrink your browser window. ^_^

**Deadpool**

**\-------------------Thu, 08/30/20xx-------------------**

>   
> 
> 
> **Hey Deadpool, it’s Spider-Man.**  
>  5:34 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Yo Spidey!**  
>  5:35 PM  
> 

>   
>  **How’s it swingin?**  
>  5:36 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **You wanna team up this weekend?**  
>  5:40 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Does Norman Osborn need a new hair stylist?**  
>  5:42 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **...what?**  
>  5:43 PM  
> 

>   
>  **The correct answer is yes.**  
>  5:43 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Guy looks like Snoop Dog fucked a poodle and their illegitimate hair child took up residence on his head.**  
>  5:44 PM  
> 

>   
>  **At least he’s keeping it in species.**  
>  5:44 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **...**  
>  5:45 PM  
> 

>   
>  **2000 Justin Timberlake called, he wants his cornrows back.**  
>  5:45 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **We doing this or are you finding Osborn a new stylist?**  
>  5:46 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Hellz yeah I’m in!**  
>  5:47 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Though now you mention it, I might have to send Normie Michael’s way**  
>  5:48 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Of course everyone calls him Magic Michael because he’s just MAGIC with those scissors! ;D**  
>  5:49 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Dammit autocorrect! Michel!**  
>  5:50 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Ok Saturday at 9?**  
>  5:50 PM  
> 

>   
>  **It’s French! Mee-chelle!**  
>  5:50 PM  
> 

>   
>  **9 it is. Your place or mine? ;p**  
>  5:52 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **I’ll meet you above Vinny’s on 11th.**  
>  5:56 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Sure thing! xoxo**  
>  5:57 PM  
> 

**Aunt May**

**\-------------------Thu, 08/30/20xx-------------------**

>   
>  **Peter I hope you realize these eggs are medium.**  
>  6:24 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **D:**  
>  6:30 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Yes. And now there will be no cookies for work tomorrow.**  
>  6:33 PM  
> 

>   
>  **The recipe specifically calls for large eggs.**  
>  6:34 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **I’m so sorry. I am the worst nephew. Disown me now.**  
>  6:37 PM  
> 

>   
>  **I think I’ll keep you in the family.**  
>  6:38 PM  
> 

>   
>  **For now.**  
>  6:39 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
>   
>  6:40 PM  
> 

**Harry**

**\-------------------Fri, 08/31/20xx-------------------**

>   
>  **Hey pete how’s it goin?**  
>  4:24 AM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Trying to sleep.**  
>  6:55 AM  
> 

>   
>  **Ah shit i forgot**  
>  7:20 AM  
> 

>   
>  **U think i’d remembr by now haha**  
>  7:22 AM  
> 

>   
>  **What time is it**  
>  7:22 AM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **7am. I needed to get up anyway. Where are you now?**  
>  7:45 AM  
> 

>   
>  **Milan**  
>  7:50 AM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Had enough of Japan?**  
>  7:52 AM  
> 

>   
>  **Only so many block prints one can pick up**  
>  7:54 AM  
> 

>   
>  **Grumpy samuri arent much my thing anyway. Those geisha tho…**  
>  7:56 AM  
> 

>   
>    
>  7:56 AM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **On to naked Renaissance ladies, huh?**  
>  8:00 AM  
> 

>   
>  **Those tits r classical for a reason**  
>  8:05 AM  
> 

>   
>  **Srsly tho the pieces here are amazing. I always love italy**  
>  8:07 AM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Ha, yeah, I just love Italy too.**  
>  8:10 AM  
> 

>   
>  **Shit Peter you know id fly u out here 2 party**  
>  8:11 AM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Glad you’re having fun though. :)**  
>  8:11 AM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Naw that’s your dream, bro. Keep living it.**  
>  8:14 AM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **I’m off to work, headed underground. Gonna lose signal.**  
>  8:15 AM  
> 

>   
>  **Oh i’m definitely livin it ;p**  
>  9:16 AM  
> 

>   
>  **Still be more fun with you tho**  
>  9:16 AM  
> 

>   
>  **Alright have fun with your boring science job**  
>  9:16 AM  
> 

>   
>  **Skype tues?**  
>  9:16 AM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
>   
>  12:03 PM  
> 

**Deadpool**

**\-------------------Sun, 09/02/20xx-------------------**

>   
>  **Spideeeyyyyyy!!!**  
>  10:34 AM  
> 

>   
>  **Last night was killer!**  
>  10:35 AM  
> 

>   
>  **And I mean that in like a “I totally didn’t kill anyone because you’d make pouty faces at me that I can’t see anyway” sort of way.**  
>  10:36 AM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **You didn’t do too bad, I have to admit.**  
>  10:45 AM  
> 

>   
>    
>  10:47 AM  
> 

>   
>  **The way you swung in there with a kick to the face and webbed that guy up?**  
>  10:49 AM  
> 

>   
>  ***WOOSH**POW!***  
>  10:50 AM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **:3**  
>  10:51 AM  
> 

>   
>  **The absolute coolest**  
>  10:51 AM  
> 

>   
>  **So we can do it again sometime?**  
>  10:59 AM  
> 

>   
>  **Team up?**  
>  10:59 AM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Yeah sure.**  
>  11:26 AM  
> 

>   
>    
>  11:30 AM  
> 

**Aunt May**

**\-------------------Sun, 09/02/20xx-------------------**

>   
> 
> 
> **I hope you managed alright with the cookies Thursday.**  
>  1:23 PM  
> 

>   
>  **I’m sorry, I just noticed my phone was beeping.**  
>  2:05 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Yes, of course. I managed just fine.**  
>  2:06 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **:)**  
>  2:10 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **So I was looking at my schedule and was thinking we’d do lunch on the 22nd this month?**  
>  2:12 PM  
> 

>   
>  **The 22nd works just fine for me.**  
>  2:13 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Great! I’ll put it on the calendar.**  
>  2:14 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **I was thinking we could go out? I noticed this little place on Nightingale Friday after work. Really cute patio and they have organic loose-leaf teas.**  
>  2:16 PM  
> 

>   
>  **That sounds lovely, Peter.**  
>  2:17 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **I even stopped in and got you some.**  
>  2:19 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **I know you’ve been looking for a new chai.**  
>  2:20 PM  
> 

>   
>  **If you were 15 I’d think you were trying to bribe me for something.**  
>  2:23 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Just your neverending love and affection.**  
>  2:25 PM  
> 

>   
>  **I am sighing at you right now, Peter.**  
>  2:26 PM  
> 

>   
>  **But I do appreciate the gesture.**  
>  2:27 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **:)**  
>  2:28 PM  
> 

**Harry**

**\-------------------Mon, 09/03/20xx-------------------**

>   
>  **Hey I gotta postpone skype tomorrow.**  
>  5:22 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Sorry**  
>  5:23 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **It’s ok. Everything alright over there?**  
>  6:02 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Yeahyeah**  
>  6:15 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Just a little gallery emergency.**  
>  6:17 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Sorry I gotta go.**  
>  6:18 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Don’t worry about it. Take care of your emergency and get back to me when you can.**  
>  6:20 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Thanks Peter**  
>  6:22 PM  
> 

**Deadpool**

**\-------------------Mon, 09/03/20xx-------------------**

>   
>  **I saw your bodacious booty in the paper today! <3**  
>  9:24 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **...**  
>  9:26 PM  
> 

>   
>  **You ever consider modeling?**  
>  9:30 PM  
> 

>   
>  **You could be on the cover of like, Big Butts Bi-Monthly or something.**  
>  9:32 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **I’m ending this conversation.**  
>  9:33 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Awww, butt Spidey!**  
>  9:34 PM  
> 

>   
>  **See what I did there?**  
>  9:35 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **GOOD NIGHT DEADPOOL**  
>  9:37 PM  
> 

**\-------------------Tues, 09/04/20xx-------------------**

>   
>  **You see this video?**  
>  11:02 AM  
> 

>   
>  **[Watch "Cat talking to its human" on YouTube https://youtu.be/B-H06H86XiM](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B-H06H86XiM&feature=youtu.be)**  
>  11:03 AM  
> 

>   
>  **xD**  
>  11:04 AM  
> 

>   
>  **[Watch "Crazy Cat Attacks" on YouTube https://youtu.be/Qeq0o6wxYCU](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qeq0o6wxYCU&feature=youtu.be)**  
>  11:08 AM  
> 

>   
>  **He just flops around!**  
>  11:09 AM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **I’m at work, I can’t watch cat videos.**  
>  11:15 AM  
> 

>   
>  **[Watch "ࡀࡀࡀࡀࡀࡀࡀࡀࡀࡀࡀࡀࡀࡀ。-Many too small boxes and Maru.-" on YouTube https://youtu.be/2XID_W4neJo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2XID_W4neJo&feature=youtu.be)**  
>  11:21 AM  
> 

>   
>  **ࡀࡀࡀࡀࡀࡀࡀࡀࡀࡀࡀࡀ!**  
>  11:22 AM  
> 

>   
>  **The Amazing Spider-Man has a dayjob?! My expectations are shattered**  
>  11:23 AM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Whatever you’re typing, it’s not displaying.**  
>  11:25 AM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **And yes I have a job. How else do you expect me to eat?**  
>  11:26 AM  
> 

>   
>  **Ah shoot, you don’t have Japanese enabled do you?**  
>  11:27 AM  
> 

>   
>  **Web + bug = dinner?**  
>  11:27 AM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Wouldn’t be able to read it even if I did.**  
>  11:29 AM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **We already went over this bug eating thing.**  
>  11:30 AM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **You speak Japanese?**  
>  11:34 AM  
> 

>   
>  **One of my many talents, baby boy.**  
>  11:35 AM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Haha, ok that second one is pretty funny.**  
>  12:05 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Why are you watching cat videos anyway?**  
>  12:06 PM  
> 

>   
>  **What else am I supposed to do with my morning tea?**  
>  12:10 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Tea...?**  
>  12:12 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Yes tea. Just got a new blend.**  
>  12:13 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **...**  
>  12:14 PM  
> 

>   
>  **What? Can’t a man sit and enjoy a cup of tea every once in awhile?**  
>  12:15 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **...**  
>  12:15 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **No, you’re right. I’m sorry.**  
>  12:17 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Well I have to get back to work now, so I’m putting my phone on silent.**  
>  12:30 PM  
> 

**Dave - Work**

**\-------------------Wed, 09/05/20xx-------------------**

>   
>  **Peter, would you mind stopping somewhere and getting some pastries for today’s meeting before coming in? Stephanie is out sick.**  
>  7:05 AM  
> 

>   
>  **Won’t count it against you for being late.**  
>  7:07 AM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **How many?**  
>  7:10 AM  
> 

>   
>  **2 dozen?**  
>  7:11 AM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Sure.**  
>  7:13 AM  
> 

>   
>  **Thanks. I’ve got cash for reimbursement.**  
>  7:18 AM  
> 

**Harry**

**\-------------------Wed, 09/05/20xx-------------------**

>   
>  **You hear from MJ lately?**  
>  12:05 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **No, not recently.**  
>  12:17 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Why, what’d you do?**  
>  12:17 PM  
> 

>   
>  **What do i evr do?**  
>  12:18 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Shes got a show in ny. Left last week**  
>  12:19 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Not that she was talking 2 me before she left…**  
>  12:20 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Well she’s probably busy if she just got here.**  
>  12:23 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **I’ll let you know if she calls?**  
>  12:24 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Thanks pete.**  
>  12:25 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **How’d your “gallery emergency” go?**  
>  12:27 PM  
> 

>   
>  **No worries there**  
>  12:29 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Everything was perfect as usual**  
>  12:30 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
>   
>  12:32 PM  
> 

**Deadpool**

**\-------------------Wed, 09/05/20xx-------------------**

>   
>  **Hey Spidey, been doing some recon, so I might be unavailable for team-ups?**  
>  4:21 PM  
> 

>   
>  **At least until this weekend.**  
>  4:23 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **City’s been pretty quiet lately anyway.**  
>  4:29 PM  
> 

>   
>  **I suppose?**  
>  4:31 PM  
> 

>   
>  **A hero would know.**  
>  4:33 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Recon huh? So you have a…**  
>  4:38 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Target?**  
>  4:49 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Ah, not this time. Personal business. No crosshairs involved.**  
>  4:53 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Ok...**  
>  4:54 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Well we can plan on another Saturday patrol if you want?**  
>  4:56 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Well when you ask so politely, Mr. Spider, how could a girl refuse?**  
>  4:57 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Same Bat time, same Bat channel?**  
>  4:58 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **What?**  
>  4:59 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Sorry, was crossing the streams. Same time same place?**  
>  5:01 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Sure.**  
>  5:04 PM  
> 

**Aunt May**

**\-------------------Thurs, 09/06/20xx-------------------**

>   
>  **Peter, I hate that this is such short notice, but could you come out for a few hours on Saturday? I’m having new furniture delivered and need help rearranging.**  
>  10:15 AM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **My afternoon’s free, I can spend some time with a kitchen cabinet. :)**  
>  10:45 AM  
> 

>   
>  **Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you sometimes. 3  
>  10:48 AM  
>  **

>   
>  **oops <3**  
>  10:49 AM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Hire some beefy moving men then sit back and enjoy the show?**  
>  10:50 AM  
> 

>   
>  **Peter.**  
>  10:51 AM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Oh come on, you’re allowed to look.**  
>  10:53 AM  
> 

>   
>  **Well we’ll just have to save that for another day and you can bring the lemonade.**  
>  10:54 AM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Aunt May!**  
>  10:56 AM  
> 

>   
>    
>  10:58 AM  
> 

**Deadpool**

**\-------------------Thurs, 09/06/20xx-------------------**

>   
>  **You ever been to Nonna’s? I’ve been looking for a good pastry and they have 4.5 stars on yelp.**  
>  12:00 PM  
> 

>   
>  **But you can’t trust these hipsters that will write a 3 page review of a cannoli that’s so scathingly positive of the locally-sourced cream that they’ve complete**  
>  12:02 PM  
> 

>   
>  **ly missed the point of irony and blown right into Alanis territory.**  
>  12:02 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **...**  
>  12:07 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Yeah**  
>  12:09 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **They’re pretty good.**  
>  12:11 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Thanks darlin!**  
>  12:14 PM  
> 

**Harry**

**\-------------------Thurs, 09/06/20xx-------------------**

>   
>  **Whats ur address?**  
>  6:09 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **You should know it already?**  
>  6:20 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Yeah but i forgot don’t be a dick**  
>  6:22 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Oh shit i found it haha**  
>  6:25 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Still on hall st?**  
>  6:26 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Yes.**  
>  6:27 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Awesome**  
>  6:29 PM  
> 

>   
>  **I am sending you THE best postcard**  
>  6:30 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **You send me an Ancient Roman big-dick postcard every time you’re in Italy.**  
>  6:32 PM  
> 

>   
>  **You can never have too many big dicks laying around Peter**  
>  6:33 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Says the guy who won’t even touch his own.**  
>  6:34 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Why do something plenty of girls are willing to do for me?**  
>  6:36 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Ever the gentleman.**  
>  6:38 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Heard anything weird lately?**  
>  7:01 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Like what?**  
>  7:16 PM  
> 

>   
>  **I was just reading this article said some ppl got sick in nyc?**  
>  7:18 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **People are always getting sick, Harry. It’s almost Fall. What are you reading?**  
>  7:20 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Its on citizensvigil.com**  
>  7:22 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Someone linked it on fb**  
>  7:23 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Citizensvigil? That site’s for people who wear tinfoil hats. And gloves. Possibly also blankets.**  
>  7:23 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Why u always gotta b such a skeptic???**  
>  7:24 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Y u always gotta txt me lik a illiterate tween???**  
>  7:25 PM  
> 

>   
>  **-__-**  
>  7:26 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Ah you’re probably right.**  
>  7:34 PM  
> 

>   
>  **There’s an article on here claiming making a heart with your hands is a symbol for the All Seeing Eye.**  
>  7:35 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Holy crap! Proper punctuation?! It IS the Illuminati!**  
>  7:36 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Your an asshole**  
>  7:36 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
>   
>  7:38 PM  
> 

**Aunt May**

**\-------------------Fri, 09/07/20xx-------------------**

>   
>  **Everything’s being delivered tomorrow at 1:00.**  
>  3:12 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Ok. I’ll be there around 1:30.**  
>  3:36 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Wonderful**  
>  3:40 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Thank you again Peter.**  
>  3:41 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **It’s no trouble, Aunt May.**  
>  3:58 PM  
> 

>   
>  **I hope we can catch up a little tomorrow. I haven’t heard much from you.**  
>  4:12 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Ah, sorry about that.**  
>  4:15 PM  
> 

>   
>  **It’s ok I know you’re busy. I was just wondering if everything was ok with your friend Wade.**  
>  4:18 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Have you gotten to speak with him again?**  
>  4:19 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Ah, kind of?**  
>  4:25 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Not really.**  
>  4:26 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **He’s been acting... strange lately. I can’t tell what he’s up to.**  
>  4:29 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Well I’m sure it’s nothing a good conversation can’t clear up.**  
>  4:34 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Yeah...**  
>  4:36 PM  
> 

>   
>  **I’ll see you tomorrow Peter. We can talk about it then if you’d like.**  
>  4:40 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **See you tomorrow, Aunt May.**  
>  4:43 PM  
> 

**Cindy**

**\-------------------Fri, 09/07/20xx-------------------**

>   
>  **Peter where did you get those pastries Wednesday? They were AMAZING and I want to bring some to dinner with my boyfriends parents this weekend**  
>  5:42 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Nonna’s.**  
>  5:45 PM  
> 

>   
>  **REALLY?! I’ve walked by that place SO many times and never went in!**  
>  5:46 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Thank yoouuu!!**  
>  5:46 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Yeah no problem.**  
>  5:47 PM  
> 

**Deadpool**

**\-------------------Fri, 09/07/20xx-------------------**

>   
>  **You know the city pretty well swinging all around it, yeah?**  
>  8:30 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **I guess so.**  
>  8:30 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Know any good coffee shops around 6th and Hall?**  
>  8:34 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **...**  
>  8:35 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Does this have anything to do with Peter?**  
>  8:40 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Why would you ask that?**  
>  8:41 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **I think you know why.**  
>  8:42 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Haven’t the faintest.**  
>  8:43 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **He called me the other day.**  
>  8:46 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Oh?**  
>  8:46 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Said he thought something felt weird? Maybe someone following him? That wouldn’t happen to be you, would it?**  
>  8:47 PM  
> 

>   
>  **oh**  
>  8:48 PM  
> 

>   
>  **I’m just trying to find out more about him**  
>  8:53 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Deadpool.**  
>  8:54 PM  
> 

>   
>  **So I may also be following him around a little.**  
>  8:59 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **DEADPOOL**  
>  9:00 PM  
> 

>   
>  **I’m just doing what you said!**  
>  9:07 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **I DID NOT tell you to stalk him!**  
>  9:08 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Well really you could have been more clear.**  
>  9:10 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **I didn’t tell you to do anything regarding him.**  
>  9:12 PM  
> 

>   
>  **You kinda did?**  
>  9:14 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **STOP STALKING PETER**  
>  9:15 PM  
> 

>   
>  **But what else am I supposed to do?**  
>  9:19 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Most people would start up a conversation rather than STALKING SOMEONE.**  
>  9:20 PM  
> 

>   
>  **You’re making it sound creepy.**  
>  9:21 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **It is creepy!**  
>  9:21 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Awwww**  
>  9:22 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **Just stop, ok?!**  
>  9:23 PM  
> 

>   
> 
> 
> **I’m so done with this conversation.**  
>  9:24 PM  
> 

>   
>  **What, Spidey nooooo**  
>  9:25 PM  
> 

>   
>  **Spidey???**  
>  9:27 PM  
> 

>   
>  **...**  
>  9:30 PM  
> 

>   
>  **D:**  
>  9:32 PM  
> 

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Slight spoilers for the Deadpool movie and Spider-Man/Deapool issue 2:  
> OH MY COSMOS, EVERYONE! I read issue two of Spider-Man/Deadpool and Spidey gives Deadpool his number! And then I see the Deadpool movie and Wade is at the laundromat using a Tidestick! It was like my fic was coming to life before my eyes! It made me want to cry.
> 
> -Normie, [this](http://mszeldafire.tumblr.com/post/139750285934/normie-this-is-not-a-legitimate-hairstyle-even) is not a legitimate hairstyle. Seriously. Fire your stylist. 
> 
> -Got all the emotes from <http://emojipedia.org> which holy cow, is stupidly orgainized. I was able to pick out the correct emotes for everyone’s brand of phone.
> 
> -Those ancient Roman big-dick postcards are a real thing. They were a gaggle of fun to discover on a trip with 40 other high-school students...
> 
> -I just read an article that actually made the make-heart-with-hands is actually the All Seeing Eye argument. Needless to say I was dumbfounded.
> 
> -This chapter was a lot of fun to write. I'd expected it to be short and quick, but it ended up being a lot more layered than originally planned, but I loved working with that. :) Hope it wasn't too difficult to follow!
> 
> **I apologize so much for taking so long between chapters. I really want to get them out faster, for my sake as well as yours. So I thought I’d keep you abreast of my current state of affairs (if you care to know):**
> 
> -I’m a huge lazy ass. You can find me doing nothing all the time. -___-  
>  -To counteract this, I’m trying to get myself onto something of a writing schedule. I’m always happier when I’m actually doing something with myself, so I need to build back into being a productive person.  
> -I’m also trying to get myself to draw on a regular basis as well. Which of course takes away writing time.  
> -I kinda started on a Stormpilot fic… It was supposed to be a quick oneshot to help me get out of my own head when I was writing chapter 4 of this fic. But it has turned into a thing with about 5 pages worth of story notes. Ooops. So sometimes I work on that.  
> -I wanted to work on chapter 5 so bad last month, but I procrastinated my spideypool gift exchange on tumblr and killed myself getting that done on time. At least it looks good.  
> -Did I mention I’m the laziest fuck?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shock ran through Wade as Peter’s eyes stopped for a moment on the space where he was hidden; but the look was so quick and Peter was soon occupied with his drink again that Wade eased into the notion that he hadn’t been spotted.
> 
> “Hey Wade!” Peter’s booming voice suddenly rang out across the evening air. He rested his hand on the table, cup still cradled between his fingers, then turned his head toward the dumpster. Wade froze. 
> 
> “Wade Wilson!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, _so_ much for all your wonderful comments last chapter. I'm glad you enjoyed the different format! I may use it again (as much as formatting it is absolute hell.) You all are wonderful people and your feedback gives me life, like a weird kudos vampire.
> 
> I'm so sorry I left you all hanging for so long. I started this chapter months ago, then ran into horrible writer's block, which was only compounded by a bought of depression. I have been working really hard over the last week to get it finished, every day thinking I would be done by the end of the writing session. But the scenes kept getting longer and longer. Which was kind of exciting and disparaging at the same time, but it leaves us with my longest chapter yet, so I'm just gonna take that as a win. ^_^
> 
> Thank you as always to my amazing friend [cortexikid](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cortexikid/pseuds/cortexikid) for beta-ing and her continued encouragement in my times of need/panic. 
> 
> Please let me know of any glaring mistakes. This did not receive the amount of editing my chapters normally do.
> 
> {white box}  
> [yellow box]

There are certain situations in life where leaving well enough alone is one’s best course of action. For better or for worse, Wade Wilson seemed to have never received that memo.

Wade stared at his phone until it went dark, hoping anything—even another beratement—would light up the screen. He wasn’t surprised that Spider-Man had meant it when he said he was ending the conversation, though that didn’t leave Wade feeling any better.

After resigning himself to the fact that his phone would remain silent for the rest of the night, Wade listlessly let it drop to the bed and dragged his laptop onto his thighs. He pulled his feet up and curled in on himself, creating a ‘V’ with his body for the computer to rest in. Wade hunched over the screen and stared at the red dots scattered about the zoomed-in map as he clicked idly through the list of corresponding coffee shops. 

His mind wandered back to the last hour’s texts and to his decision to ask Spider-Man such an obvious question. A decision that, in hindsight, was fairly stupid. 

_Of course_ Spidey would know where Peter lived. Naming the corner on which the photographer resided was practically begging to be caught. And that Peter had thought that someone might have been following him? That wasn’t the biggest surprise either. Wade’s civilian “disguise” wasn’t much of one, especially when Peter already knew what he looked like. 

Reflecting on it all, Wade wondered if there wasn’t a part of him that had wanted to get caught. To have Spider-Man predictably get mad and yell at him, tell him to stop all this. To leave Peter alone. Maybe he would listen to his idol when he couldn’t seem to listen to himself.

Wade shut the laptop and rolled onto his side, settling into his mess of a bed as best he could manage. His boxes had been disturbingly quiet and Wade wished they’d return, desirous of any company in the room’s oppressive stillness. He exhaled long and low and closed his eyes, hoping for sleep to take him soon. In the inky blackness Peter’s face appeared unbidden before him, and Wade wrestled just as futilely with his pillow as his did with the image and the twisting emotions it evoked. After what seemed like an age, Wade finally drifted off, regretting the day he’d first read the name Peter Parker.

~*~

Wade did the only thing he knew was guaranteed to keep himself away from Peter. Which was to lock himself in his apartment for the next five days. It meant missing his team-up with Spider-Man on Saturday but he could live with the regret. The emotion was nothing new to Wade Wilson. 

When Spider-Man messaged him late Sunday morning asking where he’d been, he couldn’t suppress the shame of disappointing the hero yet again. It took him hours of staring at his phone for Wade to finally pick it up and piece together a quick lie about an emergency and a nonchalant apology. Spider-Man seemed to accept it and his phone remained silent for the rest of the week. He wished his boxes had done the same.

[We should play Snake.]

{You just want him to pick up his phone.}

[What’s wrong with that?]

{Everything. He’s being responsible for once. And do phones even _have_ Snake anymore?}

[So we’re calling throwing the phone in the corner and leaving it there for days responsible now?]

{Well, the method left a bit to be desired, but the result is what matters.}

[Alright, I am rubbing off on you way too much.]

{And you’re going to complain about that? I’d think you’d be delighted.}

[Don’t make this about me. We should be focusing on the big guy right now. He’s too mopey. So like I said, Snake. Which you can totally download.]

{I don’t think you’re processing the fact that he’s upset _because_ of the phone.}

[No. He’s upset because of _Spider-Man_.]

{I’d say this has more to do with Peter right now, but that may just be arguing semantics.}

[What?]

{Nevermind.}

[So, Snake?]

“No Snake!” Wade finally burst out loud. “Jesus what I wouldn’t do to get you two out of my head for ten glorious minutes!”

{I don’t know, you sure seemed to miss us last night.}

[It says so four paragraphs ago. Wait, does the dialogue count as paragraphs?]

{I think you’re getting too meta here.}

[Oh, sorry.]

“Stop!” Wade pushed up out of the chair he’d been folded into in a fit of manic energy. “I gotta get outta here,” he continued as he anxiously paced the room. “You two stay here.”

{No can do, bub.}

“Oh don’t even with me right now.”

[Haha, I’m sure Logan would do you some good at the moment.]

“Really? _How?_ Don’t answer that.”

[But he—]

“I said don’t,” Wade growled. He grabbed his katanas from where they rested next to the whetstone and deftly sheathed them while continuing on to where his favorite glock sat out on the table. The bowie knife was already secure in his boot and Deadpool grinned at the comfortable weight of it next to ankle. 

[Ooo, where are we going?!]

“Dunno.”

{All dolled up with nowhere to go?}

“Out, then.”

{Well that was fairly obvious.}

“Then sit back and shut up.”

{I’m not promising I’m going to enjoy the ride.}

[I’ll enjoy the ride if this ends up with some un-aliving!]

Wade merely grunted as he slammed the door to his apartment behind him.

~*~

He’d wandered the streets aimlessly for a good hour before finding himself in front of a rundown building on the shiftier side of town. It took Wade a moment to recognize the peeling green paint of the door nestled into an alcove atop a flight of cracked cement stairs. He gave himself a moment to consider the funny way his subconscious seemed to work before digging a key out of a pouch and letting himself in.

Wade silently made his way up three flights of creaking stairs, ignoring the colorful euphemisms and obscenities graffitied on the faded blue walls. It looked like there were a few new phone numbers since the last time he’d been there, but he wasn’t interested in his normal game of giving them a call and asking how much. 

When he reached the door marked with a rusted 309, Wade gave a perfunctory knock before pushing his way through the broken lock. 

“Hey this is a private residence,” Weasel’s irritated voice called from another room. “I ain’t buying anything you might be selling and if you’re not here to tell me about the new must-have in kitchen gadgetry I’ve got more than a few guns ba—oh Wade.” Weasel’s tone relaxed as he made his way around the doorframe and clicked the safety back on on the pistol he’d procured. “Shouldn’t just walk in like that. Could get shot or something.” A hint of a smile floated through his words as he set the gun on the coffee table before flopping onto the computer chair to his right. It spun with the force of his movement and Weasel hung along for the ride.

“Wouldn’t matter if you did,” Wade mumbled, tearing his eyes away from the chair’s dizzying circuit.

He glanced around the old apartment and wondered if Weasel’s decrepit roommate was around. For some reason the old woman comforted Wade and he admitted to himself that from time to time, when he was feeling especially vulnerable, he may have perhaps missed living with her. Not that he would ever tell her; too much leverage was a dangerous thing to give and he’d never hear the end of her ribbing him for it. But aside from that, and perhaps more importantly, Wade didn’t have the right to her constant company anymore.

As strange as Weasel and Al’s living arrangement may have appeared, it wasn’t entirely surprising to Wade. After he had left the place a few years ago and offered for Al to stay rent free, Weasel had taken up residence in the vacant bedroom, claiming the old lady needed someone around to help out. Wade knew it was more for the excellent leasing options than any sense of charity, but he didn’t argue it. The two seemed to have bonded all those years ago when Wade had had a major meltdown and locked them both in the basement, an event for which he was sorely sorry and could never forgive himself, despite his two “prisoners” having long since moved on from the episode.

So here they lived, an odd enough couple that Wade wondered why the scenario had yet to be made into sitcom gold.

“Where’s Al?”

“I dunno. She dragged her cranky old cooch out the door hours ago.” Weasel stopped spinning and faced Wade. “So what’re ya here for?”

“Just stopping by,” Wade threw out as he vaulted over the back of the couch.

“Wade, when do you ever ‘just stop by’?”

The mercenary fidgeted in his seat, drawing a gun from one of his holsters. After a few moments’ hesitation, he managed to blurt, “I need to kill something.” He sprang from the couch and swiftly moved into the next room, cocking the gun on the way.

“Wade!” Weasel shouted as he tore after him. “Wade god dammit I don’t need the cops—”

BANG!

“—showing up again. Shit,” Weasel sighed as he stood on the threshold and leaned against the doorjamb in exasperation. He looked at the walls and tried to decipher which of the hundreds of holes punctured in the plaster was new. Old blood had soaked into the sheetrock and Weasel considered not for the first time painting the walls to match. At least it’d make the scene a little less gruesome.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he voiced into the silence. Deadpool turned to look at him, mask expressionless.

“Francis over here needed some trepanning,” he explained, indicating a crudely-drawn human outline on the wall, its head peppered with holes.

“At least you didn’t shoot yourself this time,” Weasel reasoned as he walked into the room and sat down on the floor at Wade’s feet. He looked down at his arms dealer and after a moment joined him on the floor.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, Wade. But what the fuck?”

Deadpool chuckled darkly.

“You know me. Impulse control problems.”

“Yeah? That just on the trigger?”

“...No.”

Weasel acknowledged the confession with simple silence. They stared at the bullet-riddled wall as Wade’s mind slowly quieted itself, eased by the feel of the gun solid in his grasp, the smell of gunpowder in his nose, and the soft touch of Weasel’s shoulder against his own.

~*~

An hour later, Wade made his way down the stairs and out the front door, not entirely sure how productive his visit had been but ready to admit his distress had abated. 

[Well that was fun. Can we actually go do something now?]

{Don’t complain too much. At least he isn’t so pissy anymore.}

_We’re going back home._

[What?! No! We just got out, I don’t want to go back to self-loathing central.]

_Too bad, so sad._

[Oh he’s definitely still pissy.]

{You know you’re just going to upset yourself again the second you walk through the door.}

_You know everything, don’t you?_

{No. But I do know _you_.}

[You should, having to live where you do.]

{Yes. The neighbors are particularly obnoxious sometimes.}

[Hey!]

Wade ignored the bickering and wove his way through the early evening foot traffic, the task made easy by the way most everyone moved aside at the sight of him, costume unmistakable, weapons visible and intimidating on his large form. He tried not to pay attention to their gasps, the stares or the quickly averted eyes, the neutral expressions straining across nameless faces. Wade wished he’d dressed a little less formally, or even brought a jacket to help cover his mask. As it was, nobody gave him any trouble and at the moment he could handle their fear, maybe even welcomed it. He’d been feeling the predator lately and revelled in the confirmation of his self-assessment.

[Oh my god, wait!]

{Is that?}

[It _is!_ ]

Wade quickly ducked into the architecture beside him, large stone columns carved into the old building’s facade giving him just enough room to press into the crevice. He stole a glance out across the street, then hastily pulled himself back into the minimal shadow.

_Shit. Shit shit double shit Loki’s stupid helmet horns up my ass dammit!_

{Wow that was a visual.}

[Oh who cares about that greasy-haired idiot’s kinks, it’s _Peter_. Peter’s over there!]

Wade watched in the reflection of the glass adjacent to him as Peter Parker jumped the last few steps up out of the subway exit on the other side of the busy road. He seemed completely oblivious to anyone’s presence but his own and Wade wanted it to stay that way.

_Okay. All I have to do is wait until he’s down the street. Maybe a bit longer for good measure. Then I can just keep heading home and…_

[Oh like hell you will!]

{Don’t push him.}

[Seriously? Why not?!]

_I’m staying here._

{Because you know he’ll do it.}

_I’m not doing anything._

[Of course he’ll do it.]

_I said I’m not doing anything!_

[No way he can help himself.]

“I can help myself and I _will_ help myself and I am staying here until a homeless man mistakes me for a statue, takes a piss on my leg, then camps out for the night using my boots for a pillow!”

{...}

[...]

Wade fidgeted. “Don’t you start with me.”

[One.]

He glanced at the window just in time to see Peter disappear from of view. 

{Two.}

A quick peek around the corner before pulling back sharply. “No.”

[Three.]

“I said no god dammit!”

[{Go!}]

Deadpool pushed off the sandstone brick and crept along the side of the building, his eyes scanning the sidewalk opposite him for Peter. He caught sight of his back and hurried forward, not wanting to lose his tail before whatever this was—he was not calling it a chase—even had a chance to begin.

If Wade thought about it, it really wasn’t that surprising they’d cross paths again. It was bound to happen, really, because in a strange twist of fate, Peter didn’t live too far from Wade’s current residence, which helped to explain their previous late-night supermarket encounter. 

At the moment, however, none of that really mattered. What did matter was that Wade had no idea what he was doing. He’d avoided everything all week, even messaging Spidey, trying his damndest not to even _think_ about Peter. But now that he’d seen him again, he couldn’t seem to help himself. Everyone and everything else melded into the background as he gave in to impulse and focused on the younger man’s movements.

After a few minute’s pursuit, Peter made his way into a small cafe and Wade found a small dumpster to hide behind to wait him out. His quarry soon emerged with a cup in hand and proceeded to sit at one of the small ironwork tables on the impressively large patio. Corner real estate in a decent neighborhood definitely had its perks.

Wade watched as Peter eased back into his chair, checked his phone before stowing it away in the pocket of his nicely-fitted jeans, then glanced around as his sipped his drink. Peter set the cup down and continued his purveyance, his movement seemingly now more deliberate in its sweep of the surrounding streets. A shock ran through Wade as Peter’s eyes stopped for a moment on the space where he was hidden; but the look was so quick and Peter was soon occupied with his drink again that Wade relaxed into the notion that he hadn’t been spotted.

“Hey Wade!” Peter’s booming voice suddenly rang out across the evening air. He rested his hand on the table, cup still cradled between his fingers, then turned his head toward the dumpster. Wade froze. 

“Wade Wilson!” 

~*~

Peter didn’t bring up Deadpool on Saturday. Aside from a general desire to avoid the topic, he also couldn’t think of a way to explain the situation to his aunt in vague enough terms, if that was even possible. “Someone I met has been stalking me and he told me about it but he doesn’t know it’s me he told because he thinks I’m someone else. Oh, and he also doesn’t know that I know who he really is, except he does think the me he’s stalking knows because one time he introduced himself with his real name, but the me he told about the stalking isn’t supposed to know.” Even without including his own masked persona into the mix, Deadpool’s dual life made the summary of events more complicated than a Spanish soap opera. Of course, if he’d been desperate enough for help, Peter knew he could have just given in and taken the opportunity to finally confess that he was Spider-Man.

He was sure Aunt May was already aware of his superpowered alter-ego. Years of secrets, sneaking out, and skirting her questions, along with the seemingly infinite number of mysterious bruises and occasional ruined load of blotchy purplish laundry left little in doubt. On the chance that either of them still held any uncertainty, it was, with any reason, squashed by Peter’s ease in single-handedly moving May’s new furniture around the house and her tacit acceptance of his ability to do so. Though if she really did know, she allowed Peter the pretense of his secret life and he allowed himself to believe the lie, if only to subdue his own anxiety.

Aunt May seemed to be of the mind not to pry into the situation, however, and asked nothing of Wade while he was there. Something for which Peter was immensely grateful. He didn’t know what to do about the whole Deadpool situation, but he knew he wasn’t ready to discuss it again.

After a hug and a stolen cookie devoured as they surveyed the now overcrowded living room, May set to directing Peter with tentative plans for the new arrangements and said little else by way of small-talk. He obliged her with silent action and the occasional sarcastic remark when she requested a piece of furniture be moved again. Nearly an hour later they stepped back to take a look at their handiwork.

“Well, I think that’s about as good as it’ll ever get,” Aunt May conceded. Peter looked at her, wry skepticism written plainly on his face.

“I have moved that couch three times. I don’t know what else you could be expecting.”

“Oh, you know me,” she sighed, turning to him. “Change isn’t always the easiest. I remember when Ben and I went out and bought that old loveseat. It’ll just take some time to get used to this new one…” 

Peter smiled and wrapped her in his arms. 

“Uncle Ben would be proud of the new recliner. ‘Nothing like a man and his chair,’” he mimicked in a voice not so far off from the old familiar baritone that it caught them both off guard. 

Peter paused as he remembered his uncle parked in his oversized chair, face hidden behind the large news-sheets of the Sunday paper. Each weekend the funny pages would make their way into young Peter’s hands without question, and the two men of the house would sit together as the long morning drew itself out in a pleasant silence broken only by the crinkle of thin paper or the boisterous notes of the boy’s laugh. Peter would be lying if he said the full-color pictures spread vividly across the front page every Sunday hadn’t inspired him to apply to the Bugle all those years ago.

“I’m sure he’d love all the rest of it too. He’d want you to be comfortable, and springs in your butt from an old couch is definitely not comfortable!” Peter exclaimed with a chuckle as he tried to lighten the mood.

“Oh, I’m happy to be rid of those!” Aunt May rubbed her lower back in an exaggerated fashion. “And at least this time I didn’t have to talk anyone out of a hideous brown-colored fabric!” she added flippantly. “Help me throw out all this plastic, will you Peter?” May started picking up the packaging remnants that had made their way across the room and Peter followed suit.

They filled a garbage can and Peter dragged it and the others out front for collection the next morning. He managed to snatch another cookie off the kitchen counter after a final hug from his aunt and she waved him out the door with a thank you and a bid not to overwork himself. Peter knew he could promise nothing, but he called out his assent from the front walk just the same. There was no use worrying her over the inevitable. 

~*~

It was sometime around 10:30—without a watch he could only guess—and Peter huffed an irritated sigh. He’d waited as long as he could, longer even, and yet Deadpool still had not shown as they’d agreed upon. Peter fumed under his mask; being made to wait when he hadn’t exactly been looking forward to this meeting in the first place had only further agitated his already troubled state. He tapped his foot restlessly on last time before turning and impulsively jumping off the roof of the building. A quick flick of his wrist had him sailing over the streets below on a taut string of webbing, his body as tense as the line that held him.

As Peter moved passed tall buildings on silent buffets of warm night air, he was left with nothing but the sounds of the city to keep him company. The horns and the motors and the people, so loud even this late at night, worked to soothe his agitation and quiet his mind. Peter felt himself physically relax, his muscles now working fluidly and in tandem with his webbing to propel him through the night sky. 

Completely absorbed in the state of his own being, Peter let his thoughts drift. The encounters he’d had with Deadpool as Spider-Man, and with Wade as Peter, played through his mind. There was already so much that had happened over the last month, yet now he had even more to consider in Deadpool’s bizarre preoccupation with Peter, a person whom he should have wished to avoid like the plague.

None of it added up. 

He knew how he’d felt about Deadpool, before. How the Avengers and anyone else who knew the mercenary regarded him. Spider-Man had always agreed with the rest of the world: that Deadpool was unpredictable, obnoxious, crazy, and above all, impossible to understand. Reflecting on it now, however, so many of the notions Spider-Man had held in the past collided violently with all the thoughts he’d had since their ill-fated pizza party. Slowly, a sense of clarity came to him in the face of a new awareness. An awareness Peter wasn’t quite sure he was ready for.

Peter realized that the Deadpool he had known up until then was little more than what the world had made him out to be, as transparent and predictable as the sun rising.

The character everyone had pigeonholed him into being was erratic, yes, but still consistent in his behavior. Deadpool said what he needed to say and followed through with his actions. He was undeniably a bit loony, but weren’t they all a little insane to be running around the city in spandex punching muggers and nearly dying in the face of alien invasions? 

The thoughts and feelings and actions of the person Peter was faced with now, of Wade Wilson, told Peter that there was more to the man than the persona he cultivated. When Deadpool had revealed himself to have a real human inside the red-and-black clown suit he’d built, Peter realized that Deadpool had gone from predictably unpredictable to completely unknown.

Which left him where is was now: swinging through the city, completely wrapped up in a pile of thoughts and emotions all centered around Deadpool. Wade Winston Wilson. The Merc With A Mouth. The last person Peter ever thought he’d be caught up in.

~*~

Six O’clock Wednesday and Peter was finally free, high in spirits and ready for an easy evening. The day had gone well, Cindy having shown up on time for their meeting as well as Peter snagging the last chocolate donut from the break room on his way out from the Daily Bugle. Jameson had even agreed to paying extra for the set of photos Peter had dropped off, which meant he was either sick or his assistant was holding something over him again. Whatever the reason, Peter wasn’t complaining. 

Deciding that the night was too nice to stay stuck underground for so long, Peter got off the train a few stations before his normal stop in order to walk the rest of the way home. No sooner had he emerged from the exit than Peter’s spidey sense was prickling at the back of his neck. Immediately his eyes had leapt around for the source as he continued on down the sidewalk as if nothing was amiss.

After a few moments, he caught sight of a flash of red out of his peripheral vision, but the thick plastic arm of his glasses obscured most of what he could see. So, making like he was paying little attention, Peter made a bee-line for the oncoming woman ahead of him. At the very last second, he spun, swerving out of her way with a quick apology as his eyes darted over the crowd. Sure enough, Deadpool was doing his own dance across the street, attempting to use whatever and whomever he could as cover. Unfortunately for him, his bright costume was hardly inconspicuous.

Frowning at the knowledge that Deadpool was once again following him, Peter detoured into a cafe for a moment to collect his thoughts and prove that Wade was actually tailing him rather than just on an extremely coincidental evening stroll. 

_What am I going to do about this guy?_ Peter thought mournfully as he stood in line. _This is the silliest thing I’ve ever had to deal with and I fight bald men in horrible green bird suits. Seriously I’ve had enough of this crap._ He moved forward, placed his order and paid before moving out of the way. Peter couldn’t help a worried glance out the window as his mind worked a mile a minute. _I need to do something about this before he sees Spider-Man swinging out my window some night..._

When he left the shop and Deadpool was still hovering across the way, Peter made a snap decision and sat down at one of the tables in front of the shop. If Wade thought he was a pushy asshole, Peter was going to live up to it. With a rush of adrenaline, he shouted across the street.

“Hey Wade! Wade Wilson!”

Peter continued to stare pointedly across the street at his now hidden pursuer. Deadpool had once again ducked behind the dumpster for cover, but there was no way Peter was letting him win this game of hide and seek. He’d sit and wait until the mercenary was ready to come out and play.

Deadpool peeked over the lid as Peter watched him, eyes unwavering. He stood up straight and pulled his shoulders back as if bracing himself for the encounter, then slowly made his way across the street. It was not lost on Peter how hesitant his feet seemed to be as they stepped, one in front of the other, dragging the rest of Wade’s body along with them. 

As Deadpool approached the table, Peter’s nerves began to kick in. His previous surge of excitement was quickly passing and the reality that he would once again have to talk to Deadpool, to _Wade_ , face to face as Peter rather than Spider-Man hit him like a punch to the gut. As Peter he had nothing to hide behind, no mask to conceal his expressions or project the power he held as a hero, his costumed confidence left hanging in a closest. 

Suddenly Wade was before him, standing on the other side of the metal table with his shoulders hunched up in a defensive fashion. 

“Wade,” Peter said as steadily as he could, managing to sound just arrogant enough to mollify his current distress. He rode the pretentious high and indicated to the chair across from him. “Please, sit. Talk with me.”

The masked man pulled out a chair and flopped down in it, affecting a confidence Peter knew neither of them currently felt. Again the awful silence that seemed to plague them fell and Peter cursed himself. 

_This was the worst idea. Since when is Deadpool so quiet? What do I say to him? If he wouldn’t stop for Spider-Man, he won’t for me—_

“So,” Deadpool’s voice broke low between them. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Did you, uh, want to talk about something?” Wade’s tone was reticent and he fidgeted in his seat. Peter’s own anxieties ratcheted at the thought that the man currently lacked all the confidence he normally carried.

_No, you’re supposed to be angry at him! He’s following you around like a freaking stalker! Anyone would in this position would be upset. Probably terrified, really. Damn, what angle do I play then…_

“Uh, Pete?”

“Why are you still following me?” There was nothing to do but be blunt about it, so Peter grabbed hold of the anger and let it burn in his eyes.

“Still?” Peter’s brows pitched. “So, Spider-Man told you I was following you?” Deadpool asked tentatively.

“I asked him to look into it for me.”

“So you _are_ friends, if he did you a favor.”

“No. I mean,” Peter continued after a beat. “He is sworn to protect the city. And that means everyone.” 

“Spidey’s definitely a hero. Even swung a save my way a time or two.”

“Just the kinda guy he is, I guess,” Peter admitted a little sheepishly. “Would even save that muck-racking hothead of a boss of mine. Can’t believe I supply him with pictures when he only runs them with slander.”

“Pffft. Spidey’s a saint. If the Triple J wanted to write about potentially dangerous vigilantes, I am suspect numero uno.” Peter chuckled lightly.

“Stick around in this city long enough and I’m sure he will.”

Wade tilted his head to the side and Peter wondered what it was he’d said to elicit such a curious response.

“Right, well…” Peter trailed off, not sure how to continue.

“You’re not meeting someone here, are you?” Deadpool questioned suddenly.

“Huh?”

“You’re not waiting for someone right now?”

“No. Why?”

“I just thought, if you were, and you probably were because why else would you just stop, but then again it is a nice night and you don’t seem to have many friends, but then again again maybe you’re just a busy guy and tonight you finally had time for your senorita—or senior, far be it from me to say anything, pan pride—and now I’m interrupting and ruining your whole romantical night.”

“Okay, wow, that was a lovely word-vomited assessment of my pitiful social life.”

“Well, if you’re not meeting anyone, then I suppose it’s true?” Peter could hear a hint of humor creeping into Deadpool’s voice.

“Wade Winston Wilson!” he exclaimed in a horrible falsetto, his own attempt at a laugh to shift focus away from this uncomfortable introspection.

“But mo~m!” Wade whined back at him. “And that’s no fair, Petey, using my middle name when I don’t know yours.”

“How do you not know my middle name?” Peter scoffed, incredulous. “Not only did you look me up _just_ to ask me about Spider-Man, but you continued to follow me around afterwards. And again I ask, why the hell are you following me around?”

“I only looked up what I needed to find you.”

“You’re deflecting from the question again.”

“No, I’m just being selective which ones I answer.”

“Well you haven’t really done that either.”

Wade sighed and leaned forward, elbows resting on the table as his powerful arms steepled in front of him and he cradled his head in his hands. 

“Look, all I did was see your name in the paper under Spidey’s picture, called the Bugle and asked the bubbly woman on the other end if you worked for them and was told that you’re just a part-timer. A little further schmoozing and she let me know you’re very smart and also work for a bio-engineering firm on Lincoln Avenue. Side-note, I think she’s got a thing for brainy guys, total in right there if you want it. From there I just had to wait outside your place of science-y business until you left, then stealth my way into that coffee shop after you and you know the rest from there.”

Peter narrowed his eyes, trying to discern how much of this story he should be believing. “So you don’t know my middle name or where I went to school or about my family or any of the other things a normal creep would find out about their stalkee?”

“First off, no, I don’t know any of that. So that should tell you that number two, I am not a creep. I don’t even really know where you live, just the street!”

“I don’t think that’s something I should be impressed with.”

“Fine, Shania. Just don’t ignore that thirdly, ‘stalkee’ is not a word.” 

“Whatever, it’s not a word,” Peter agreed for the sake of ending the argument before pausing to meditate on a thought. “At the supermarket, were you, uh, were you following me then or…?”

“No. No, that was… coincidence.” The whispered ache in Deadpool’s voice stung Peter and he twitched involuntarily. 

“So you started after that? Why would you want anything to do with me, after I—”

“I dunno, man,” Wade interrupted him, a slight edge to his voice. “There’s a lot wrong with me, okay? I mean, just look.” He gestured to himself with a flourish of his gloved hand. “Freak on the outside, freak on the inside.” 

Peter hesitated. He didn’t know how to respond but was unable to suppress the shame he’d felt for weeks and it pushed his compulsion to apologize now that he had the chance.

“I’m sorry,” he started, voice tentative before it gained the confidence that this was the right thing to do. “I can’t believe I said that to you. _Did_ that to you.”

“Please, stop apologizing. There’s no need, really.” Wade was soft yet earnest in his assertion in a way that caught Peter’s attention. Why the man would refuse an apology was beyond his current comprehension. “And I’ve heard too many ‘sorrys’ lately anyway,” he continued as his normal easiness bubbled up. “Need to maintain the status-quo. I’m allowed three apologies a decade and that was numero trois.” Peter looked at him somberly.

“Oh, don’t pout at me, baby boy. Turn that frown upside down.” He reached out and pulled at the corners of Peter’s lips, turning them up into a smile. Peter batted Wade’s hands away and let his face fall, furrowing in frustration.

“Wade, don’t.”

“What? I’m giving you an out here.”

“I don’t need an out, I just need you to acce—”

“Accept your apology? How sad you are at how messed up I am? Or is it that you realized what a dick you were and need to feel better about yourself now? Momma taught you to say sorry and everything would be hunky-dory.”

“I… I just…” Peter stuttered, taken aback by the edge in Deadpool’s voice and his horribly astute accusations. They weren’t the only reasons he was apologizing for his actions; it was the right thing to do and he owed it to Deadpool as he would to anyone else he’d wronged. But Peter knew he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t some truth to what the man had said, and there was no way he was going to compound his guilt by refusing it. He sighed heavily and tried to continue.  
“Sometimes, I dunno, I’m just shit with people. That’s no excuse, but _god_.” Peter dragged his hands over his face and breathed deeply. “Maybe I need to get out more. Social interactions aren’t exactly my strong point…”

“Oh ho, I can relate to that.” 

Peter shifted his fingers where they rested on his face and peeked at Deadpool through the gaps they made. The mercenary had once again leaned back in his chair and was exuding an air of calm Peter was, for some reason, prone to believe was real. Maybe it was the connection of their poor people skills, or perhaps just another switch that had randomly flipped in Deadpool. Either way, Peter was grateful that the man suddenly seemed more at ease.

“We’re a bit of a mess, aren’t we?” he chuckled. Wade regarded him a moment before answering.

“It would seem so, Petey-pie.” Peter swore he could make out a smile under the mask.

“Right, so, what are we going to do about all this?”

“All this what?”

“You. Following me. What we started this whole conversation with.”

“Oh, right, that,” Deadpool waved dismissively. 

“Yes, that.” Peter’s irritation was beginning to increase. Wade leaned in over the table.

“You know, you’re pretty cute when you’re upset.” Peter’s eyes widened in disbelief. 

“Really, you’re going to hit on my now?”

“No, not really. Just observing. Unless you want me to,” he added as an afterthought.

“Not what I was looking for, no.”

“What are you looking for then?” Peter sighed heavily.

“Normalcy.”

“‘Normalcy’? Like, for no more following you?”

“Yes. Like for no more following me.”

“Like, for us to be friends instead?”

“Yes. Like for us to be—what?! No!”

“Friends are normal,” Deadpool persisted, patently ignoring Peter as his excitement increased. “Since things don’t seem to be going as hoped with Spidey, and we seem to get along—”

“You’re absolutely kidding me. _We get along?_ ”

“Yeah. Well, I mean, aside from that one incident you caused and then you getting upset over me watching you a little—” Peter scoffed. “We got along in that coffee shop. And you honestly can’t tell me that we haven’t got the ‘amusing banter’ thing down. Hell, you made a joke earlier even though you’ve been all ‘serious business’ face all night!”

Peter looked at him, incredulity overly apparent in the peak of his brows. “You just spent the last week stalking me, and now you’re asking to be my _friend?_ ” Deadpool mirrored him, raising his brows so comically high the expression could be seen through his mask, while giving Peter a silent shrug. Peter rolled his eyes and tilted his head off to the side to stare across the street, sighing for dramatic effect. He glanced back at Wade without turning to face him, watching out of the corner of his eye. “You’re not going to leave me alone either way, are you?” he questioned in a tone that said he already knew the answer.

“Probably not,” Wade replied without hesitation. 

Peter wrestled with his options; not that he had many, he knew, but still there had to be a way out of this. He couldn’t let Deadpool keep following him, but he couldn’t become _friends_ with the mercenary either. It was a ridiculous notion. But what choice did he have? This was so foolish…

“Fine.”

“Wha-?” Deadpool gaped at him.

“If we do this we do it on my terms.”

“Yeah, sure, anything. I can’t believe you’re agreeing to this.” Peter ran a shaky hand through his hair.

“I can’t either so maybe just shut up while you’re ahead.” Wade nodded vigorously. “This is only happening if you _stop following me around_. For good.”

“Done and done. No need for other look-sees if we’re having buddy time already!” Deadpool was practically vibrating and Peter took a deep, steadying breath before continuing.

“Alright. Second, I need you to wait for _me_ to contact _you_. I need time to, to sort whatever this is out. Plus I have work and other obligations that take up my time.”

“Of course you do, Petey. So do I. I don’t just sit around all day with my feet up. Though a cute boy with a palm leaf and some grapes might be nice.”

“Oh, uh, yeah. I didn’t think… Sorr—” Wade looked at him pointedly and Peter was amazed for the hundredth time how expressive the man could be underneath a full-faced mask. “Right. No more apologies.” Peter would reflect on that later.

“So you’ll be needing my number then,” Deadpool stated as he held out his hand. Peter stared at it blankly before Wade started to wave it around in an impatient fashion. “Your phone?”

“Oh! Um, it kinda died,” he lied. “About an hour ago?”

“Alright, paper and pen it is!” He reached into his pouches and retrieved what looked to be the same pad of paper and black marker Deadpool had used to give Spider-Man his number. As Wade scribbled out the string of numbers, Peter thought how surreal it felt to be receiving it again from the same man who’d given it to him before.

“Here you go,” he chimed, sliding the paper across the table. “Don’t forget to call now, Peter.” Deadpool waggled his finger in a good-humored reprimand. “Be seein’ ya!” With that he got up and fell into the light foot traffic surrounding them, the lyrics of a song falling breezily from his lips and ghosting over Peter as he disappeared into the city.

“Now set it in motion, before it’s gone, gone, gone.”

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, my lovelies, I have a question for you: 
> 
> Now that Wade and Peter are "friends," what on earth will they get up to?! 
> 
> This is a legitimate question, I'm looking for ideas to use in the upcoming chapters, so your suggestions may make their way into the story. (And I'd greatly appreciate the help!) Please keep in mind how they're both feeling about one another currently, and how it's probably going to take some time before they really become "buddies." That doesn't mean I won't take suggestions for things more akin to a date for further down the line, but it is the present I'm most concerned with right now.
> 
> -A note about Francis: Yes, this is a movie reference, but no, the movie doesn't play a part in this story. Francis just happens to be the name Wade picked to call his target buddy. I started this fic before the movie came out, so it has no bearing on the overall plot. And as much as I *love* that rendition of DP, I still find it easier to think about the comics when writing him. Weasel, however, probably does have a sprinkling of TJ Miller's portrayal mixed in.
> 
> As to further updates, I seem to have shaken the writer's block and am really excited for chapter 7. I've actually started chapters 7 and 9 already (proof [here](http://mszeldafire.tumblr.com/post/145649866099/what-writing-a-multi-chaptered-fic-looks-like)!), so hopefully we won't be looking at another long stretch.
> 
> I love you all. <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. My. Gosh. You all are so wonderful and amazing! I can't believe the support I keep getting for this story. And then you all came up with so many great ideas and suggestions last chapter. They were fantastic. Thank you so, so much. ❤❤❤ I will definitely be using a few in the future.
> 
> A million thanks to my wonderful friend and resident Avengers expert [Hiekomi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiekomi/profile) for beta-ing.

“Hey kid, good work today,” Iron Man complimented as he landed softly next to Spider-Man. A small hiss preceded the sleek slide of his helmet as the faceplate retracted, revealing the famous smile of Tony Stark.

“I’ve been around long enough, you should know I’m not a kid,” Peter couldn’t help but retort. “Thanks, though.” Tony’s eyes crinkled sardonically, his paternalistic air coming on full display.

“Yeah, well.” He left it at that and Peter felt a twitch of annoyance, something that seemed to happen more than one might expect around one of the the founding members of the Avengers. Then again, Peter had learned that the media didn’t have to exaggerate much when it came to Tony Stark and his personality.

“He’s just mad because I’m not the only old man on the team anymore.” Captain America winked as he joined them.

“Har har. We’ll see who’s laughing when the Tower inadvertently burns down from all the candles on your cake this year, Encino Man.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand your reference,” Steve taunted.

“You don’t _want_ to understand that reference. Poor Sean Astin,” Peter mumbled.

“I’m sure,” Steve agreed amiably. “But you did do great out there. Really helped us out, having someone to ‘wrap things up,’ so to speak.” Tony groaned in an overdramatic fashion.

“And _I’m_ the one with the bad jokes?”

“Yes.”

Peter whipped around to where the voice had suddenly sounded from and met with Hawkeye almost face-to-face. How the man managed to get past his Spidey sense Peter would never know, but it disturbed him every time it happened. “Rogers’ sense of humor may be stuck in the forties, but he’s still got the up on your pompous dad jokes any day.” Clint grinned, his teeth gleaming white, and Stark met him with a staunch glare.

“Wow. Great. Go team. I can really feel the love here. Maybe we need a few more breakout sessions on support next retreat, huh?”

“No way I’m spending another weekend in a cabin with you and Norse Fabio doing trust falls,” Hawkeye stated flatly. “You ask him what you wanted yet or are we just here to listen to the sound of your beautiful voice?”

“I’d wager on the latter.”

“Don’t side with the bird now, Cap. You’re causing dissent in the ranks.” Clint scoffed.

“Is there something you needed, Mr. Stark, or should I go now?” Peter had been quiet throughout the exchange, a stranger to the group dynamics playing out before him.

“Tony. I’ve told you call me Tony before, haven’t I?” The rise in his voice and the curious tilt to his head told Peter he honestly couldn’t remember.

“Once or twice, yeah.”

“Well Tony it is then!”

“Okay, uh, Tony.” The first name still sounded foreign on Peter’s tongue. “It’s getting late and…” he trailed off as he gestured over his shoulder.

“Right right. Curfew and all.” Peter knew he was purposefully teasing, but that just made it all the more irritating. He opened his mouth to offer that he had and early morning class, but realized that would be fuel to the fire and closed it again before making a sound. Fortunately, his mask hid the goldfish routine from further ridicule.

“We were wondering,” Cap stepped in before Tony could stir up more trouble. “Seeing as we’ve worked together a few times now, and you’ve been protecting the city for even longer, if you would like to join the Avengers, Spider-Man.” Steve’s smile was brilliant, full of confidence and assurance. It was hard to refuse, but Peter supposed that was the point.

“Gosh. I was definitely not expecting _that_ tonight.” Peter could hear a slight shake in his voice. He couldn’t help the shock at receiving such an offer and it reverberated through his vocal chords, cutting any poise he might have had.

The Avengers were more than just a group of superheroes. They were a symbol. The people and the papers took them seriously, applauded their efforts and thanked them for their work.

Peter had wondered what it would be like to be one of them. What it would mean for him, his efforts, his image. His life. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t imagined it a time or two, arriving on scene side-by-side with Captain America, flying in the Quinjet, tactical meetings with the fabled Nick Fury. On the outside, it all looked like a good deal, a shiny new prospect for the sometime hero, sometime vigilante from Queens. But Peter knew the snappy membership card would come with changes, ones he may or may not be entirely agreeable to.

“So whaddya say, Spider-Man?” Tony questioned after Peter’s silence had stretched too long for the vibrant man’s comfort. “You ready to join the big boys?”

“Well, I can’t say that I haven’t thought about it before,” he chuckled, hand fidgeting at the back of his neck. “But I don’t know if I’m, uh, _ready_ , for that.” Steve nodded slightly, his countenance one of quiet consideration. Tony simply quirked a brow.

“Not that I’m not grateful for the offer or anything,” Peter added gingerly, fumbling over his words. How was anyone supposed to get over the thought of disappointing Captain America? “It’s just kind of a lot at once. I save old ladies from purse snatchers and corner stores from petty theives. Little guy taking care of small-time crimes, you know?”

“Don’t sell yourself short there, Webs,” Tony interjected, shifting from one foot to the other in agitation. “There’re enough villains after your head I’d classify as ‘super.’ At the very least ‘major.’” 

“Jee, that certainly is a confidence booster.” The sarcasm escaped him before he could check it and Peter was afraid he’d overstepped when Iron Man abruptly tilted his head, a look of deep introspection falling over his features. 

“You think we should switch to a better method of classifying villains?” Clint groaned and Peter’s discomfort shifted from nervousness to frustration. In typical Stark fashion, Tony was ignoring the situation around him as he continued on his much more important train of thought. “Maybe a number system, like the one used for hurricanes or tornadoes. Levels one through five, something like that.”

“And how are those levels going to work out there, boss?” Clint sassed back. “Killed one to ten people, you’re a level one, eleven to twenty level two, and so on?” Tony threw him a withering glare.

“Well nothing’s perfect on the first go, now is it?” Clint raised his brow skeptically and Peter wondered if the tension always ran so close to boiling over when the team wasn’t in action.

“Whether we label them ‘super’ or ‘five,’ I still don’t feel the most qualified to say I fight anyone like that on a regular basis,” Peter added.

“Alright _guy_ , now you’re starting to irritate me,” Clint sighed, exasperation etched deep in the low tenor of his voice. “You’re making me agree with the tin bucket and I ain’t partial to that. Because a giant man-lizard, a genius mechanical-octopus-human hybrid, and a bomb-throwing goblin definitely rank up there.” Steve nodded.

“Clint isn’t wrong. And you’ve helped us on a number of larger-scale problems as well.”

Peter’s eyes darted from one Avenger to another as they looked at him, expectant. If there had been a corner on this barren rooftop, Peter knew he’d have backed up into it by now. He hadn’t felt this unsure of himself since high school, especially in costume.

“I don’t know if you know this about me,” Peter started, voice still slightly uneven. “But I’m kind of an analytical guy, yeah? So, uh, I’m gonna have to take this one home and think on it. No reflection on any of you. Just, my own needs. If that’s okay?”

“Of course, kid. No reason to be so jumpy about it.” Tony chuckled and Peter felt his chest loosen with the release of an unintentionally held breath.

“Right, well, if this is all settled here, I’m out.” Hawkeye saluted, then proceeded to disappear into the night, his parting words manifesting on the air even after he seemed to have already gone. “Should have left with Nat forever ago.”

“Remind me why we keep him around?” Tony inquired, having slipped back into the testy tone he was known for.

“He’s a better shot than you,” Cap answered simply as he turned toward Peter. “Do you have the phone?”

“Yeah yeah.” Peter heard rather than saw the metal of Iron Man’s suit opening, his focus remaining on Steve as the man started to talk to him.

“It’s completely understandable you may need some time with this. Fury had a hell of a time convincing King Donut over here. And I had my own considerations as well.”

“Really?” Peter breathed. “Captain America had hang-ups about forming the Avengers?” Steve smiled knowingly, soft and a little sorrowful.

“Yes. We can talk about it sometime, if you’d like. Or anything else for that matter. Just let me know.” He paused and looked back at Tony for a moment, who was fiddling with a small device. “Captain America may have been created as a symbol of freedom for this country, but that entails a lot more than most realize.”

Before Peter could begin to process any of the multitude of Steve Rogers’ freshly revealed subtleties, Tony broke all thought by thrusting a phone into Peter’s hands.

“Here ya are, Webs. Your very own Stark Phone, version two-point-oh. Patent-pending.” Tony levered an expectant look at him.

Peter held the device up and marveled at the slim, blank slab of reinforced plastic polymer between his fingers. His brain was running one hundred miles a minute trying to catch up to the thought of what it was he now held in his hands.

“I thought this was just a rumor.” Peter turned the phone over slowly, taking in what he could of the phone’s design in the shifting shadows. “Silicon Valley would have a mass heart attack if they knew you were serious.”

“Ah, well. I guess they’ll get to live a bit longer then. This baby’s one of a very limited few, the others belonging to certain individuals. Hold it up there, into the light.” Tony motioned with his arm and Peter followed suit. “Yeah, like that.” In the light Peter could see clearly the design he’d felt in relief under his fingertips. Etched deep into the matte black of the phone’s back plate was a bold capital ‘A’ crossed with an arrow and breaking free from its encapsulating circle.

“For members only,” Tony winked. “Or something like that.”

“Yeah, no pressure there.” Steve remarked.

“Hey woah,” Iron Man threw his hands up. “No harm meant. We want you to have it either way, kid. Part of the team or solo act. Makes keeping the city in one piece easier when we can get in touch.”

“Seriously?! You’re giving this to me? The most advanced—and expensive—piece of technology I ever have and likely ever will lay hands on?” Peter was astounded, elated; he could hardly believe the situation. Or his luck.

“Yes. As Tony said, we’d like to be able to contact you if the need arises. And visa-versa.”

“That’s… Wow. Okay. Thank you. Thank you so much!”

“Yadda yadda, you’re welcome, very magnanimous of me, et cetera. Now,” Tony said, the glint in his eye a match to the excitement in his voice. “Let me show you how it works…”

That had been the first phone Peter had received from the Avengers. Over the years, there had been upgrades to the software, as well as two full-on replacements, each one varying only slightly from the last. Which, knowing Tony Stark and his love of upgrades and shiny new toys, was a bit of a surprise to Peter. Given his current task, however, he thanked the universe for small miracles and what was probably Steve’s intervention in the near supersonic speed of technological progress.

As Peter gave the tiny screw a final twist and pulled it from the confines of the carbon-fiber casing, he wished it was as easy to fix whatever had come loose in his own head. Because something was obviously amiss to have lead him to this point. Despite having one day woken up with spider powers and deciding the best course of action was to fight crime in what some might distastefully describe as an overly-bright gimp suit, Peter still managed to surprise himself with his poor decision-making skills from time to time.

He gently lifted the textured backing up and off the phone, revealing the sensitive electronics encased within. A gentle sigh escaped him as he examined the complicated motherboard and series of microchips all delicately soldered together. Peter had done this before, but it had been awhile and he needed to remember where the circuitry allowed for connection. Tony Stark was many things, but receptive of open-source hardware he was not. It’d be so much easier if the thing had a standard usb port somewhere or a memory card slot, but the case was seamless, everything done wirelessly, even charging. Luckily Peter knew a thing or two about electronics and could wing the rest, so he’d previously been able to find the spot hidden inside where a manual connection could be made.

It’d been the first thing he’d done, all those years ago, with that first Stark Phone. Taken it home and ripped it apart, studying its electrical innards like Da Vinci with a cadaver; ravenous for knowledge in a place of great taboo. Peter wondered what Tony Stark would do if he knew how much Peter had tampered with the phone.

For Peter had done more than just look inside; he had hacked his way into the OS and made sure it wasn’t sending unauthorized data, as well as disabling the GPS and other tracking systems. Not knowing how much he could trust the Avengers, it had seemed prudent at the time; necessary. After so many years of keeping his identity secret from everyone, it was something Peter only felt safe revealing on his own terms, even to a league of superheroes.

He’d also managed, with a bit of trial and error, to set the phone up on a relay. Which was what he was attempting to rework now. The Stark Phone had an emergency call system built in, and Peter had already set it up so that all messages from that line forwarded to his personal cell. When presented with the problem of having Deadpool’s number twice over, supposedly as two different people, Peter had at first panicked. During an analysis of his options, however, he’d recalled the set-up and wondered if he couldn’t do similar with the regular number attached to the special phone as well. If it worked, Peter could call “Deadpool” directly from his cell as Spider-Man, and “Wade” indirectly via the Stark Phone as Peter.

Once or twice during the long and tedious process, Peter had thought it seemed rather a lot of work to create such a system, and maybe even a little convoluted. But he knew that it was worth it. There was no way he could be seen with a prototype Stark Phone without raising suspicion, let alone one with an Avengers logo on it. From experience he knew juggling burner phones was difficult at the best of times, not to mention completely impossible to explain to those around you. Suddenly you have two phones and look like a drug dealer to strangers and a cheating liar to your girlfriend. There were never enough pockets in your jeans or chargers that fit each phone. And good luck trying to remember to bring the correct phone as the day and situation demanded. 

No, this way took more initial set-up, but there was no end to the benefits. Peter would be able to text Deadpool as Spider-Man right in front of Wade and the man would be none the wiser. It kept everything so much neater in Peter’s mind. Peter dealt with Wade and Spider-Man with Deadpool. And neither the twain need meet.

~*~

“Okay then, so what do you want to do?” Peter questioned on the other end of the line. 

He’d called a few minutes prior, Wade’s phone ringing to the tone he’d set for unknown numbers. It was a surprise to hear the young man’s voice, which had sounded a little unsure of itself as he let Wade know who was calling and why. Of course he had been waiting for Peter’s call, but Wade hadn't exactly been holding his breath for it to actually happen.

After exchanging a few awkward pleasantries, Peter had launched right into discussing the details of their what, hangout?

{Play date.}

[Totally a play date.]

When Wade hadn’t had much by way of ideas, Peter suggested going out, giving a few options for things they could do.

“Uh, see, I don’t do crowds so good most of the time…” Wade explained. “Least not in civvies, and the suit just draws attention you probably don’t wanna deal with.” 

“Well I’m not sure I’m okay with my ‘stalker’ coming over just yet. Even if you do know what street I live on…”

“We could kick it here and watch t.v. or something?” Wade offered.

“...Though any sane person wouldn’t agree to visiting their stalker’s place either,” Peter finished.

“Can we stop calling it stalking now?”

“Well what else would you call it?”

“Tracking? Following? Morally questionable surveillance?” Peter sighed heavily.

“Alright. So, you’ve followed me around for the past who knows how long, initiated a ‘friendship’ based on that fact—which is highly suspect, by the way—and now you want me to come over and ‘watch t.v. or something’?”

“Basically. Though you don’t have to make it sound like the opening scene of a Law and Order episode.” It was quiet and Wade imagined he could feel Peter’s frustrated glare through the line.

“Fine.”

{What?}

“What?”

“I said fine. If this is the only way we can do this, then it’s fine.”

{I can’t believe that worked.}

[This kid has no sense of self-preservation.]

{As we’ve seen before.}

“Awesome! When’re you free? Lemme grab my calendar!” Wade reached behind him and ripped the calendar off the wall, tearing the glossy picture of puppies in a basket down the center. “Shoot! And pugs are my favorite.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, nothing a little scotch tape can’t fix. Then again…” Wade trailed off as he glanced down and noticed the date. June 19xx. “May be time to hit up those annoying kiosks that invade the mall with cheap gifts anyone only ever buys for their in-laws. You like overly-processed cheese, Peter?”

“Only for nachos.”

“Correct answer.”

“I think those kiosks are only around for the holidays.”

“Yeah, but Christmas starts like two seconds after Halloween now, so I only have to wait a month.”

“Sure.”

“You busy this weekend? What’s the date?”

“The thirteenth. And apart from some lab time Saturday morning, I’m open.”

{You will refrain from making a lewd comeback.}

[No but I had a really good one!]

_Listen to White or I will strangle you._

[Oo, kinky!]

_…!_

[Alright alright. But I bet we’ll get to _come back_ to Peter later.]

{Get out.}

“The thirteenth?” Wade questioned, his voice strained as he pushed the boxes aside. He flipped through the calendar until he found a month where the thirteenth corresponded with a Thursday. February. Fluffy lab puppies on a slide. Wade smiled at the verbal coincidence. “It is Thursday, yeah?”

“I thought you said you had a calendar?”

“I do. Just had to make it match the day is all.”

“I don’t think that’s how calendars work.”

“Workin’ with what I got here, Pete. Maybe in a few months we can go Christmas shopping together and get me a new one.”

[Don’t act desperate now or anything.]

{Eh, it was more tragically hopeful really.}

_It was sarcastic. How can you two not get that?_

[You can’t pull wool over your own eyes, buddy.]

“You okay with Saturday, then?” he asked, a little hesitant. A short silence ensued as Peter considered.

“Yeah sure,” he finally replied. “I don’t know how far your place is, but I’ll be done with work around three.”

“I’ll text you the address. Just, don’t freak out, okay?”

“Why, it’s not some opium den, is it?”

“ _Opium den?_ ” Wade repeated incredulously. “What is this, 1870?”

“I don’t know, you’re the one with the calendar.” 

He could hear amusement in Peter’s voice and was glad for it. Maybe it would soften the blow, if only a little. Wade preferred their light banter over Peter’s heavy scrutiny.

“Ha ha. No, but you should live in a comedy club. Anyway, it’s just coincidence, but you know how we had that fun time at the supermarket? Yeah, well, it’s because I only live a few blocks away…”

“A few blocks away?”

“Uh huh. As in, I could probably get to your place in twenty, twenty-five minutes. On foot.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Peter said nothing and Wade waited for the inevitable. The exasperation, the outburst, and the great sigh followed by the despondent tone. He wondered if Peter was always like this and decided the man needed to unwind a little. Wade knew he could help him with that, given time and a chance. Right now, he just clung to the hope that the chance he had so unexpectedly been given was not about to be taken away.

“You know what? At this point, I’m not even surprised.”

“Y-you’re not?”

“Well don’t sound so astonished. Honestly, my life has been one looong line of _really_ messed up coincidences, and this is just another one of them.”

“No no, back it up. I _am_ astonished and I _will_ be astonished because with your track record, I was ready for the angry eyes and Patented Peter Pout. TM”

“You did not just trademark my face.”

“I did.”

“And I don’t pout.”

“You do.”

“You barely even know me!”

“And yet I already know your Pessimistic Petey Pucker.”

“Please stop.”

“Pete’s Provoked Profile.”

“Now you’re just reaching.”

“Aaand I’m out of ‘p’ words.”

[I can think of—]

“No!” Wade interrupted with a shout.

“Hey woah now, I need my hearing to stay intact for _at least_ another fifty years. And I think that’s my line.”

“Ah, sorry. Boxes.”

“I’m not gonna question that. I’m sure I’ll find out later.” Wade chuckled nervously.

“Yeah, sure.”

“So, Saturday after work, I’ll drop by, yeah?” Peter ventured when Wade’s silence drew out long enough to verge on uncomfortable.

“Good. Yes. Don’t worry about dinner, I got that covered.”

“I can’t stay out late.”

“No, wouldn’t want to keep you past dark anyway. Not being your ‘creepy stalker’ and all.” Wade played it light, keeping in line with the easy tone Peter was using. It garnered him a good-humored scoff, which Wade accepted with a smile.

“Right. I’ll be sure to let all my friends know where I am, just in case I don’t come back.”

“You print that in the paper, Petey. Ain’t nothing gonna mess this up. Wade Winston Wilson will be on his best behavior.” Though it was a worthless gesture over the phone, he saluted enthusiastically.

“Don’t forget to text me the address. I’ll catch ya later.”

“Of course. Steel trap, this mind here.” Peter chuckled again and Wade couldn’t help his excitement. “See ya,” he ended simply and hung up.

~*~

When Wade answered the quick successive knocking at the door two days later, he was wearing his mask along with an average outfit of jeans and a long, loose shirt. If being met with a mask startled Peter, he didn’t let it show and Wade gave him credit for his incredibly strong yet terribly misplaced fortitude.

“Uh, hey,” Peter mumbled by way of greeting, clearly unsure of himself and possibly this whole idea. He stood in the doorway, hands in the pockets of fitted, dark wash jeans. A leather messenger bag was slung over his shoulder, the thick strap cutting a diagonal across Peter’s chest, defining a set of well-toned pectorals Wade wasn’t expecting on the lean man. For a moment he let himself appreciate the wiry muscle of Peter’s exposed arms, another unforeseen yet delightful development.

“You _are_ going to let me in, right?”

“Yeah yeah,” Wade chimed exuberantly as he moved out of the way. “Welcome to la casa de Deadpool. Ma maison de la saison. Don’t quote me on the French, that one’s rusty.”

“Wait,” Peter started as he stepped inside. “So you know Japanese, Spanish, possibly some French. Anything else?”

“German and a smattering of this and that as needed.”

“Polyglot. Impressive. I couldn’t make it past ninth grade Spanish.”

“Remember any of it?”

“Ha, yeah. One word. Huevos.” 

“You have a thing for eggs? I seriously think you have a thing for eggs. You ever have a tamagotchi?”

“Didn’t everyone? What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Language lesson number one,” Wade stated, holding up a single digit in a studious fashion. “‘Tamago’ means ‘egg’ in Japanese.”

“What’s the ‘tchi’ part, then?”

“‘Watch.’ See, because the Japanese pronounce it ‘wa-chi,’ and they love to smoosh words together, so then you get ‘tamagotchi.’”

“So it’s an egg watch that really isn’t a watch. With a little amorphous animal in it. That poops too much and dies in a day. Makes perfect sense.”

“Hey, you played with it.”

“It was a weird decade.” 

They were quiet for a moment and Wade realized he was still holding the door open, Peter stuck standing just inside in what happened to be the corner of the kitchen, bag and shoes still on. He berated himself for forcing his guest to hang out in the doorway, but was grateful that he’d been right about them getting along. In fact, they seemed to slip into easy conversation whenever a difficult topic wasn’t presented, or happened to be pushed to the side by what seemed to be two easily side-tracked minds. Wade hoped it was indicative of the rest of the night’s events.

“Ah crap, I made you wait in the door. Haven’t had anyone over in a while, so…” he trailed off as he closed the door and moved a bit further into the apartment. “Shoes off, you can leave them there.” Wade pointed to a semi-straightened pile of boots on a mat. “I have slippers if you want them. Brand new in package. Hello Kitty though, hope you’re ok with pink.”

“Are just my socks okay?” Peter inquired as he toed off his shoes.

“Yeah, that’s cool.”

“That’s a Japanese thing, isn’t it? Slippers?”

“Mhmm. If you want, you can leave your bag too. Or take it with, whatever you want.”

Peter looked at him a moment, an expression of serious consideration in his hazel eyes. “You’re acting very, normal, right now.”

“Am I? Really can’t tell anymore, the way this thing gets on.” Wade tapped his head in a mocking gesture.

[Hey, quit banging around! I’m trying to sleep up here!]

{Is that why we’ve been so quiet?}

[I don’t know. But I can’t keep you people entertained all the time, jeeze!]

“Honestly you can’t blame me for not knowing what to expect before coming over, the way everything’s gone up ‘til now.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Wade admitted, the guilt hitting him a little harder than anticipated. “I’ll just act as normal as I can for you, yeah?”

Peter glanced at him sharply and Wade swore he saw a flash of concern come over his features. Which was ludicrous, really. Peter had no reason to worry over Wade.

“You just be you, okay? Minus the stalking thing,” Peter smirked.

“It’s kind of hard to stalk you when you’re already in my apartment, eh?”

“Now _that_ sounds creepy. We gonna go further into this nefarious nest or should I skedaddle before a cadaver falls out of a closet?”

“Ooo, keeping that Law and Order angle going. I like it.” Peter smiled again and Wade wondered what was wrong with the both of them. 

“Alright,” Wade started, stepping forward and motioning for Peter to follow. “So the grand tour is a bit underwhelming and quite frankly unnecessary seeing this isn’t TLC or HGTV. Though let’s be honest, I’d never be on TLC. Have you seen their programming? TNT called, they want their drama back.” 

“Yeah, haven’t watched much cable t.v. in the last decade or so.”

“You’re not missing much,” Wade replied. “Well here we are in the kitchen. Notice the rich details in the formica countertops and mass-market cabinets.” He ran his hand over the freshly washed surfaces and reflected on how shitty the apartment still looked even after its first thorough cleaning since he’d moved in. _Ah, New York. Never change with your crappy apartments and soul-crushing rent._

“Through here we have the living area,” Wade continued on through the semi-open floor plan, bringing Peter into the haphazard living room. “An eclectic assortment of furniture all locally sourced from fine street corners really ties everything together. Bathroom’s over there if you need it,” he stated, pointing to a slightly ajar door across the room. “And that’s pretty much it, aside from a closet and the bedroom, which is a really weird place to show someone on a tour. ‘Hello,’” he started in his best imitation of a WASP housewife. “‘Welcome to my home. Would you like to see where my husband and I bang?’” Peter snorted.

“Dime tour’s good enough for me.” Peter took in his surroundings and Wade waited, thinking he should probably offer him a seat but too eager to allow his guest free reign to actually do so.

“What’s a mercenary with what I assume is more money than he can spend doing in a low-rent apartment complex?” he asked after a moment.

“I’m just not comfortable living with anything too swanky, ya know?”

“And a fifty-two inch flat screen is what, slumming it?” Peter queried as he motioned to the large television while blatantly eyeing a number of other rather expensive electronics and equipment scattered about the room.

“What can I say, I’m a walking contradiction,” Wade replied with a shrug.

“So is there a plan for tonight, or do I just get to stand here and admire all your toys?” The tease in his voice was evident and Wade was beginning to realize how sarcastic Peter truly was. Kid could probably even give Spidey a run for his money.

{Wonderful. You two will get along great. I can’t wait to listen to your constant witty banter.}

[Oh ho, looks like you’ve got the sarcasm down too.]

_What a cruel irony._

[Like our dependance on you.]

“I figured we could watch something. Maybe The Golden Girls? What with you being tight with your aunt and all, thought maybe you could relate.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. I’ve seen a few episodes before.”

“Great!” Wade exclaimed as he flopped down on the lopsided armchair. “Because I already put it in.” He flipped the t.v. on with the remote he dug out from between the cushions and the pastel-colored menu screen came to life on the screen.

“Been quite a while though,” Peter continued offhand as he unshouldered his bag and sat down on the couch. “Used to catch the reruns sometimes when I was home sick from school.”

“Wait,” Deadpool paused the video just as the opening theme started to play. “How old _are_ you?”

“Twenty-five.”

[Sweet baby Jesus.]

{Praise your chosen deity.}

[He’s not that much younger than us.]

{Which is a _huge_ relief. As creepy as following a strange guy around for a week is, it’d be about five-hundred percent worse if he were _actually_ a kid.}

“Oh,” Wade replied simply.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, ‘oh.’” They both paused for a moment.

“This show is kinda old, ya know? You don’t...” Peter stopped, recomposed his question. “You’re not old enough to remember the original run, are you?”

“Sweet vibranium no!” Peter chuckled. 

“Alright. Didn’t think so, but you never know.”

Wade’s face scrunched up in consternation and he wondered how old he could possibly look hidden behind a mask.

[Yeah but don’t forget, Petey’s seen our pizza face.]

{Not that anything’s discernible through that carnage.}

_Real ego boost. Thanks guys._

Wade sat back with a grunt and hit play, hoping against hope that this night could continue to be uneventful, peaceful, and maybe even just a little bit enjoyable. 

~*~

Peter toured through Deadpool’s apartment as the merc chattered on, inwardly contemplating more than he’d been expecting to process that evening. Even as he’d knocked on the front door, Peter had been second guessing his decision to come, to agree to this whole crazy charade. So he’d banked on his mere presence being the most surprising event of the day, the loss of sanity on his own part something he’d need to analyze later and remedy before it became a liability.

However, finding out that not only could Wade Wilson be cordial, but that they actually seemed to get along, was a revelation Peter had not anticipated. 

The fact of the matter was, Peter was beginning to enjoy himself. And that held more implications than his previously identified personal issues.

“...Which is a really weird place to show someone on a tour,” Deadpool’s voice caught his attention again and Peter focused in on what he was saying. “‘Hello. Welcome to my home. Would you like to see where my husband and I bang?’” Peter laughed.

“Dime tour’s good enough for me.”

They exchanged a few more words, Peter honestly curious as to why Deadpool would choose to live here of all places. He was fine with Wade’s choice of entertainment, grateful it wasn’t something super violent or racy, and made himself comfortable on the couch. When Wade enquired how old Peter was, he was again taken aback by how much the merc seemed to not know about him. It was shocking how a trained professional could be so oblivious to some of the most basic details of his tail’s life, and Peter had to concede that Deadpool had in fact told him the truth when he said he knew as little as possible. Though that also meant he was exceedingly good at what he did if he could follow Peter with little more than a name and vague address.

“This show is kinda old, ya know? You don’t… You’re not old enough to remember the original run, are you?” Peter really had no idea how old Wade was, though his reaction to Peter’s age told him he’d expected some sort of notable age gap.

“Sweet vibranium no!”

“Alright. Didn’t think so, but you never know.” He glanced over and thought he could make out a frown through the fabric of Deadpool’s mask. The larger man let out a snort of derision and pressed play.

They sat in silence for the first few minutes, the atmosphere having shifted to something akin to awkward. Peter wasn’t sure what had happened during the conversation to elicit such a change, but that came with the territory. Despite their easy exchanges earlier, he’d kept on edge simply because he was in what basically boiled down to a stranger’s apartment under the guise of an ordinary citizen. Peter had his own secrets to hide and knew nothing of what Deadpool had planned in the grand scheme of things. If ever there was a time to be vigilant, it was now.

Nevertheless, as the episode continued and the plot became more ridiculous, the laughter began to flow freely between them and Peter finally felt himself relax completely into the sofa. It wasn’t long before the end credits were rolling, the room now light with the simple comfort they’d been able to slip into, and the next episode began without word or ceremony.

After making their way through the first disk, Wade made to continue with the second. As he popped the dvd box open, he seemed to take the silence as invitation for a question.

“So, which of our lovely ladies would you say you are? Blanche, Rose, Dorothy, or Sophia? Of course I’d like to say I’m Dorothy,” he barrelled on before Peter could answer. “Bea, Bea, my beautiful Bea,” he sing-songed. “But sometimes I get a bit of an itch and maybe I’m Blanche, if you get what I mean.” He turned from his place on the floor in front of the t.v. to waggle his brow at Peter, who responded with a semi-stern look and grand rolling of his eyes. “You know, what with my charm and all.” Deadpool grinned before returning to his task. “And then other times White says I’m like Rose and sometimes I even feel it, but don’t let that bastard know. I can cook a mean lasagne though, and that’s all Sophia. Plus, that purse? Old lady pouch for sure.” Wade ended the statement with a firm nod of his head.

“You sure you’re not Stan?” Peter ventured after a pause for dramatic consideration.

“Oh. Wow. Ouch.” Wade grasped his chest. “And here I was playing the nice host and you just go and do me like that.”

“I don’t know who I am,” Peter continued, ignoring Deadpool’s attempted guilt-trip. “Dorothy, maybe? I like her sarcasm,” he added with a grin. “She doesn’t take any bs from anyone either.” He waited another moment as Wade fiddled with the disks. “But the important question here is, which _House_ would they all be in?” 

Wade gasped and sat back heavily on his feet. He looked up at Peter, head tilted slightly, and Peter got the distinct impression there was some sort of awe etched on the face hidden behind the red and black mask.

“Dear god, your brain is like magical marshmallows,” he marveled, wonder clear in the soft ringing of his voice.

“Rose is easy,” Peter plowed on in an attempt to sound nonplussed. He couldn’t quite decide what Deadpool’s reaction meant—the man was a constant non-sequitur—but it flustered him to have someone so openly interested in his dorky musings. 

“Hufflepuff,” they stated together matter-of-factly, voices so in sync in both timing and tone that Peter would be unnerved if he let himself think about it.

“Dorothy is definitely Ravenclaw,” Deadpool tossed out and Peter nodded in agreement, then hummed in thought.

“Which leaves Gryffindor and Slytherin. Now, I know most of the world paints Slytherin as the slutty house,” he continued, eyeing Deadpool with a sidelong glance. “But you just know it’s really the Gryffindors getting it on in that tower all the time.” Wade waited in silence and Peter kept his sudden impulse to fidget under such rapt attention in check. “Besides, Sophia has too many stories and crazy schemes to be anything but a Slytherin.”

“So many S’s,” Wade chimed. “‘Ssss.’ Like a snake. I bet she’s a parseltongue.”

“Not to mention Sicilian. There’s another ‘s’ for you.”

“Please tell me you’ll be my alliteration life partner,” Wade sighed heavily. “We’ll have so much pun together.” Peter’s eyes went wide in disbelief.

“Oh. Oh no. You cannot expect me to stay here after a joke that bad.”

“Aw, but Petey. I’m just getting warmed up!”

“Anyone have a humorously large cane?” Peter called out to no one as he looked around the room. “This guy needs off the stage five minutes ago.”

“There goes my set,” Wade moped amiably as he crawled back into his chair. 

“Hey, before I start this, you hungry or anything? I never even offered you a drink… Sorry, not really used to having guests.”

“Oh, water’s fine. And it’s okay, I know what you mean. Seems I only ever have Aunt May around anymore.”

“Yeah? What’s up with that anyway?” Deadpool inquired as he got up. “Young, smart guy like yourself, you should be out and about. Living it up. This is the city that never sleeps and you’re ready to hit the hay before the sun’s down.” 

Peter chuckled darkly to himself. _This city gets more sleep than I ever will._

“I guess it just kind of happened,” he started to explain as Wade moved about in the kitchen behind him. Peter turned so that he was sitting sideways, arm thrown over the back of the couch so he could see the other man and continue the conversation.

“I graduated in May and then jumped right into this internship. It was the best thing I could find and I got really lucky with it, actually. We were doing a study and oh, thank you.” Peter took the plastic cup Wade held out to him. It had some cartoon character he was unfamiliar with splashed in bright colors around the outside and a fast food chain logo near the bottom indicating it was probably the prize from a kid’s meal. Peter shook his head and took a sip before picking up where he left off.

“It was really busy up until a few weeks ago, a lot of time at the lab or in front of the computer when I was home.” Peter was embellishing a little, but he didn’t want to fully admit to the sorry state of his social life. “But Aunt May never lets me go too long without seeing her.”

“And a dashing little thing such as yourself doesn’t have any other friends to speak of?” Deadpool questioned as he rifled through a few drawers. Peter frowned. That was more times now than he could remember that Wade had called him “little.” 

“Alright, enough with the short jokes. You’ve got what, three inches on me?”

“Four, if you’re really the five-foot ten you claim. Two and a half if we include that fluffy brown mop you’ve got up top.” Peter reflexively reached up and began running fingers through his hair before snatching his hand back in embarrassment. He didn’t need to give Deadpool anything more to tease him with.

Luckily it seemed Wade hadn’t noticed, his back still turned to the couch, and Peter used the hand to rest his cheek upon, elbow digging into the back cushion. The opening notes of “Thank You for Being a Friend” played on loop in the background as the main menu persisted on the t.v. screen. While Peter sat listening to it, he wondered vaguely if the universe wasn’t playing some elaborate joke on him.

“What’re ya up for?” Wade questioned as he turned around, a number of colorful folded sheets held up in his hand. “Personally I’m in the mood for Thai or Chinese, but we got burgers, pizza, Italian, you name it.”

“Um, Thai sounds good?” Peter replied after a moment. Deadpool flipped through until he found the green paper Peter recognized as Jasmine Garden’s menu, then tossed the rest onto the counter. He walked over to Peter and held it out to him.

“Order whatever you want. Dinner’s on me. You sure you’re good with just water?” he asked as he made his way back into the kitchen. “I got your tea if you’re in the mood.” Peter looked up from the menu.

“‘My tea’?”

“Nnnn,” Wade trailed uncertain, opening a cupboard and pulling out a tin. “Masala Chai,” he read off. “Saw you buy it at that shop. You can have it, if you want.” He turned to look at Peter, mask wrinkled with a frown. “Didn’t care for it much when I tried it, and normally I’m all over cinnamon. You like churros? I love churros. Churros churros churros. As fun to say as they are to eat.”

Peter thought back and recalled Deadpool mentioning having some tea the week before when they were texting. _Was he really that interested in what I was buying? I don’t know if that’s creepy or kind of endearing. No, no that’s definitely creepy._

“You’d never had chai before? And churros are delicious, by the way.”

“Nope, can’t say as I ever had,” he replied, giving the ‘p’ a loud pop.

“You put anything in it?” Peter asked as he turned back to the menu.

“Was I supposed to?”

“Well no, you can drink it plain. It’s good that way, but I prefer the traditional preparation with milk and sugar.”

“Shit, I knew I was doing something wrong. I told you two. I don’t know why you can’t ever listen to me.” Peter glanced up and noticed Deadpool was off on his own, staring at the wall and talking as if someone was there. Or _someones_ , if he’d heard him correctly. Wade quickly snapped his attention back to Peter. 

“I totally knew that,” he said bashfully. “‘Ol noggin up here ain’t so good at the remembering sometimes.” It wasn’t lost on Peter that Wade had ignored his strange discussion with an imaginary person, but he chose to overlook it at the moment. It was telling in the way that this was the second time Wade had said something derogatory about his mind that night, and Peter felt they didn’t know enough of each other yet to speculate or say anything to him of it. He brought his eyes down to scan the menu once again as if nothing was amiss.

“If you have everything, we could make some. Might be nice while we wait for food.”

“Yeah!” Wade agreed, voice bright. “I like sugar, should be a good experiment. You can still take it home with you, though.”

“Well, I bought it for my aunt in the first place, and I know she’d wonder what was going on if I showed up with two boxes of it.”

“You two _are_ pretty tight, huh?”

“That we are,” Peter smiled as he got up from the couch. “Number sixty-four and some fried wontons.” He handed Wade the menu and leaned against the counter. Normally he would have been reluctant to let someone else pay for him, especially after such a short acquaintance. But he figured arguing it would go nowhere and he was able to reconcile it with the pizza he’d gotten them so many nights ago besides. “You have a pot and a strainer?”

“Bottom right cabinet and that drawer over there,” Wade replied, pulling out his phone and dialing the number. “Hello? Yeah. We need a number sixty-four, three fried wontons, the pineapple fried rice, two pad thais, and a ginger stir fry. Delivery.”

Peter choked on the amount of food Wade was ordering but wasn’t going to dispute it. He knew what his abilities did to his appetite and he could only imagine what a healing factor as strong as Deadpool’s did to his. Instead, he rummaged around the kitchen trying to find what they would need for the chai.

When he was done on the phone, Wade helped Peter gather the remaining necessities and they worked together to make the tea, Wade heating the milk and water mixture as Peter instructed him in the proper steps. 

The comfortable conversation that had characterized their evening continued as the spices brewed, and when the food arrived they made their way back to the living room to enjoy it to the tune of old ladies bickering and studio laughter. Peter finally had to skip out around nine-thirty, citing a need to run some morning errands the next day as reason for his early departure. Which, when he reflected on it on his walk home, wasn’t exactly early anyway. He’d stayed almost five hours, far longer than he’d expected, and the sun had disappeared beyond the horizon before Peter had even left Wade’s apartment.

He knew there was a lot to think about, things he should be considering and possible events he should be planning for. Preparation in anticipation of the worst possible outcome. Because even though Deadpool had shown himself to be decent company on more than one occasion now, Peter Parker still had much to hide from Wade Wilson, a modus operandi he’d managed to build and maintain to render his secrets safe.

But as he made his way home, ready to don his Spider-Man suit and take up his nightly patrol, Peter couldn’t help but feel relaxed, the simple pleasure of an enjoyable evening settling into the curve of his lips and clearing his mind of little else but contented peace.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -The egg joke saga continues I can’t help myself aaahhhhhh.
> 
> -Another thing I have no control when it comes to: alliteration. How many have I already put into this story? How many more will I add? ~~And I definitely don’t have a scene built entirely around them for later.~~
> 
> -So the only other language I know is Japanese (and even that’s a bit rusty), so forgive my translation-foo. If you know the correct translation for anything here or in the future, please let me know so I can fix it!
> 
> -So I (and my friend and I think probably a lot of other people) totally thought tamagotchi was a portmanteau of ‘tamago’ (egg) and ‘tomodachi’ (friend). Which makes a lot more sense to me than ‘watch,’ but that is apparently the official explanation from Bandai. Maybe they were thinking of pocket watches?
> 
> -Sorry to everyone who didn't get that one block of jokes because they were all Golden Girls references, but 1)I just couldn't help myself and 2) _why have you not watched The Golden Girls???_ It's freaking hilarious. Now's the time to educate yourselves, because I have more GG jokes planned. ;D
> 
>  
> 
> •I'll be leaving on vacation in a few weeks, so I'm anticipating that messing with getting the next chapter done. I'm going to try my best, however, to keep on it for you all. Plus, I've got about 12 hours total flight time there and back, so hopefully that downtime proves fruitful. ~❤~


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